


27 Tuxes

by black_rose_blade



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 27 Dresses - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst with a Happy Ending, But lots of fluff, Case, F/F, Humour, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Multi, No Beta, OOC, Oh and more angst, Romantic Comedy, Some angst, a little ooc, a lot of OoC, also sex, and sexual tension, at some point, little murder, lots of humour, ne edit, romcom, smol case, to combat the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_rose_blade/pseuds/black_rose_blade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson loves weddings. He's been to 27 in total and has the tuxes to prove it. But now, on wedding number 28 it's his turn to serve his younger sister as her Man of Honour, only... John is hopelessly in love with his sister's would-be wife.<br/>The cynical Sherlock Holmes is a writer with hopes of becoming an investigative journalist, unfortunately his eye for style and talent for writing romantic dribbles lands him in the style section writing the commitments column for his older brother's newspaper company. Wishing to break out of that industry Sherlock searches ceaselessly for ways to expose the wedding industry for the sham he believes it to be.<br/>This is a version of 27 dresses but with Johnlock. The first few Chapters are really similar to the film but I tore it away a bit more by adding some Sherlockian elements in the later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **EDIT: This fic is Garbage I'm a criminal. I won't take it down because many of you seem to enjoy this shit but fuck if I don't hate myself for posting it LMAO  
> **  
>  Okay first of all disclaimers:  
> I don't own Sherlock.  
> I don't own the plot or the script to 27 dresses.  
> I do boast being a huge fan of both. I was inspired after reading 'It Figures' by scullyseviltwin. Except, unlike scullyseviltwin I am a horrible writer so I've half plagiarized the script of 27 dresses with some minor changes here and there. It gets better, I promise! ... okay I don't promise, but... ;-;
> 
> Disclaimer number 2, if you haven't seen the film, this is going to spoil the shit out of it (especially the first half). So if you don't want to spoil the film for yourself, don't read this horrible shit fic.
> 
> Disclaimer 3: if this has been done before, I'm so sorry. I had no idea, and also, where is it? Give it to me!
> 
> Anyway that's enough rambling. Sorry!

Mozart found his calling at age five, composing his first minuet. Picasso discovered his talent for painting when he was nine. Tiger woods won his first club well before his second birthday. John... John was eight when he discovered his purpose in life. He was at St. Mary's Church, on the grounds of Goldsborough hall, in the heart of Yorkshire England; it was his cousin Leonard’s, wedding. It was their first big event since his father died and his mum was not in great shape. John, his little sister Harriet, and his mother sat at a pew while the church filled up, waiting for the bride and groom to arrive.

The sides of the pews were decorated in lovely white ribbons and pretty pink roses to match the flower arrangements that had been spread around the church for this special day. It was classically romantic, with the smell of roses and candle wax perforating throughout. John thought it was perfectly lovely.

As they sat in silence while the adults walked around chatting with on another Harry and John held hands and stayed put, deciding not to run around with the other children, not wanting to cause their mother any sort of grief today. Little Harry, however had more difficulty understanding mum's pain and finding herself already bored and uncomfortable in the tall wooden pews she tried to find an excuse to get up and stretch her legs for a bit. The bride was taking too long anyway. It was then that she spotted a little boy, cousin Malcolm, it looked like (harry couldn't quite remember since she didn't get to see half these children very often), drinking what looked like a glass of orange juice. Suddenly Harry's throat felt very dry. She wanted some juice too. Harry looked from John to her mother. She remembered John telling her earlier 'You mustn't bother mummy today, she's a little upset because she misses dad, so if you need something, just ask me, okay?' So Harry turned to John and whispered, “Pssst! John! I'm really thirsty.” John's mother heard, of course, and made to get up, but John stood up quickly and held a hand forward to stop his mother, “It's okay mum, I can handle it.” He said, “C'mon Harry, this way.”

“Thank you, John.” His mother croaked out. John smiled at her, took his little sister's hand and led her to towards the reception hall to get some juice, which was where it had been placed. John had made sure to get a note of that as they walked in, knowing that at some point Harriet was going to get restless. She was still very little after all. 

"There you are Harry," John said, as they reached the large transparent glass beverage dispenser filled with orange juice "Here, hold this cup under this little tap, and I'll fill it up. Tell me when, Okay?"

Harry obediently held the little cup where her brother had pointed out and had him fill it up almost to the brim. 

"Careful not to spill." John fussed. 

Harry smiled and took a sip of her juice. "Thanks John." She said, then sat herself down on the carpet to have the rest of her juice. John smiled back and walked over to a long mirror situated a couple of steps away. He was staring at his smart-looking suit and fiddling with the tie when he heard a loud yell in a rough male voice shouting somewhere behind him.

“Oh Bloody buggering hell, fuck me!” The man screamed as he pushed John out of the way to stand in front of the mirror, not noticing John at all as he inspected his reflection and tried to wipe furiously at his suit with a linen cloth. The man was none other than cousin Leonard. He had spilled a rather large drop of red wine on the left breast of his light sliver suit, just on the pocket below his pink pocket square, and it was visible, very, _very_ visible. “Fuck! Fuck me in the fucking arse!” Leonard cursed.

Harry giggled through her cup of orange juice and John smirked along side her. Leonard turned to look at them in surprise at the sound “Oh, Johnny, I'm sorry.” He said, looking genuinely chastised, “Didn't realize you two were back there!”

John laughed a little, waving him off “It's ok Len. Da used to swear all the time.”

Len smiled grimly at that then quickly turned back to the mirror, his expression falling again when looking at the stain, “What am I going to do? She's going to be here any minute! What the fffffuuuuuuudge brownies...” (Len caught himself before cursing again) “am I going to do?”

Harry giggled again, knowing full well what Len had wanted to say. That's when John saw her little white hat, pinned to her hair with clips, one beautiful pink flower on the side. Pink like the roses decorating the entire church and like the dresses of the bridesmaids he and his mother had seen clamouring around the limousine where the bride waited to make her entrance. Pink like Len's pocket square! Standing there, looking at Harry's flower and his cousin in distress, John got a rather brilliant idea.

“Harry, may I have your hat please?” He asked, already reaching for it as Len paid no attention to them, attempting (with no luck) to remove the horrid red stain.

“What for?” She complained and leaned back so she was little out of John's reach.

“I'll give it back later.” John gritted out, “Well... most of it.”

Harry looked mildly alarmed at that statement, but putting her glass of juice down carefully she reached up and unpinned it anyway, “Whatever. It was uncomfortable. Pulls my hair and makes my head itchy.”

“That's my girl,” John smiled, and took the hat. He quickly removed the tule and pink flower and rearranged it to look like a boutonniere. He then ripped off one of the pins from the hat and tied it to the back of his little make-shift boutonniere and tapped Len on the arm.

“Here, let me help.” John said to him as Len looked down in surprise.

“Oh brilliant idea Johnny!” He exclaimed, seeing the flower in John's hands, “You've certainly saved the day, here, pin it on me, why don't you?” Len smiled as he bent down on one knee and allowed John to remove the pocket square and replaced it by pinning the pink flower onto the pocket, the stem, tulle and leaves covering right over the stain.

“There we go, much better.” John smiled as Len inspected himself in the mirror once again, this time with a smile on his face.

“Mmm, good, very dashing!” Leonard laughed and mussed John's hair. “Thank you, Johnny.” Len smiled and then in the same breath his eyes twinkled and he said to John, happily “Say, I've an idea! Why don't you...” – He reached into his pocket and took out two rings – “bring forth the rings for the ceremony. And Harry,” – he turned and grabbed some flower petals from a nearby table and put them in Harry's little (now destroyed) hat – “can be our little flower girl!”

Harry scrunched up her nose at being called 'little', but took the hat gladly as John took the rings with an awed look in his eyes, “Thank you Len. It's ... it's an honour.” He said.

Len smiled, “You're a good man now, Johnny, very clever. I know you won't let me down.”

And with those words and Len's reassuring smile John was floating on a cloud of proud delight. For the first time in a while John didn't feel like the the responsibility of losing his father was too big a burden. He knew, in this moment, that he had made a difference in a big day for his cousin, and as they listened for instructions on leading the bride in with their new found responsibilities, John felt that he and his family would be okay. That was also _the moment_ , that's when John fell in love with weddings. Having helped someone on the most important day of his life, John couldn't wait for his own special day...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, okay so now that's over and done with... I know, I suck, please don't hate me.


	2. Two Weddings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John attends two weddings at once while catching the attention of a very handsome, but very cynical man attending one of the parties.

John stood in the tailor's shop inspecting himself in the grand three-way mirror as the tailor, Harry (strange coincidence, that) Hart and his assistant, Gary considered the fit. John was leaning heavily on his cane, but despite that, he found that he appreciated the reflection of the elegant man in front of him. His tux was made up of finely tailored classic black suit jacket with rounded silk lapels, a crisp white white shirt, a black bow tie and a pair of simple, yet nicely fitting black slacks. The ensemble fit him rather nicely, so well, in fact, John hardly paid any attention to his ailment. He felt a bit like James Bond, actually.

“Well, Dr. Watson, it's quite charming, it really is. It's the perfect suit.” Harry observed, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, brov, you look pretty great.” Gary concurred. 

John turned, a cocky smile on his face as he attempted to hide how happy he felt looking at himself in that suit, “You think so?” He winked at them both.

“Like it was made for you,” Harry beamed.

Another man came into the room then and interrupted them. Holding a phone towards John, he said, “It's for you – it's the groom.”

John took it gratefully “Oh, great Ta,” he sighed then pulled the receiver to his ear and smiled, “Hi Bill... yeah they just finished steaming it... Yes, yeah, I know, thank the stars we're both still the same size and build – Army did us a favour, didn't it?” John laughed, “... Yeah, don't worry about it alright? I'm going to bring it over to you in just a minute. Don't fret over a thing – this is your day, mate.” With a thank you from Bill Murray (the groom), John hung up the phone and turned to the tailors. 

“Well lads, show's over for now. Do me a favour and pack up this beast while I get myself ready to bring this over, yeah?” John removed the jacket first and extended it towards them.

“No problem.” Gary smiled and took the jacket, hanging it up neatly by the change room and ushering John in for him to change.

 

The loud london streets were a medley of chaos as John ran out into them, waiting for Her impatiently. He tapped his foot on the pavement and looked around desperately. Where was that damned woman?! He spun round again to see if he could spot her from another direction for what felt like the hundredth time, and was startled to find exactly the person he was looking for almost walking straight into his back. There was The Woman dressed in her suit, her hair up in a messy bun. “There you bloody are, Irene I've been waiting ages!” 

“Impossible to find a parking spot in this part of London, you know that, don't you John?” She smiled coyly and picked at the lapel of his suit. John fumed, flicked her hand off him and grabbed her arm to pushed her forward. 

“Oh stuff it Irene, just lead the damn way will you? We're this far from late! and here!” He pulled a plastic bag out from under the clothes bag he was holding and handed it to her as they neared her vehicle “I brought you a kerchief for your pocket, a pair of my cufflinks, and some paracetamol... now about your hair...”

“What? The man said up! It's up!” Irene complained as she opened the door to her car and John did the same on the other side. 

“Forget it! I'll fix it when we get there! Drive!” John urged as he put on his seatbelt.

Irene put on her sunglasses and smirked, “If you say so. Hold on tight Johnny this is not going to be a slow ride!” She backed out of her parking spot in under a second and quickly merged them into traffic, swerving this way and that as she floored it.

“Jesus Christ Irene you're going to kill us!” John screamed. 

Irene laughed; they were soon out of most traffic and speeding towards the wedding venue in a flash.

 

 

“Don't you all feel stylish, lads? Best part is, you can just keep the suits and wear them to all your bloody fancy parties. No more worrying about you've got to wear. A blessing, that is. Did you all a bloody favour picking the classic black look. Not to mention, the birds flock to a man in a good suit, or the woman in one! HA!” Bill laughed and clapped John on the back as John muttered, smiling nervously and indulgently, “Yes, Bill very true,” while Irene rolled her eyes at his stupid joke. John stepped on her foot to grab her attention before the photographer snapped a shot of the Groom and all his groomsmen. Irene glared but complied and gave a quick fake and toothy smile.

 

 

 

 

Sherlock sat with the rest of the guests in church looking up as Bill and his wife were joined in 'Holy Matrimony' as they said. Ugh. _Boring._ He was doing his best to entertain himself by deducing as much as he could about the guests and bridesmaids when a slight movement from the groomsmen's side distracted him. He quickly roved his eyes over to the men to see what he could deduce about them. The first person he noticed was the woman in a suit with her hair up in a very chic looking style, scowling at someone, and the immediate second thing he noticed was the person she was scowling at, which was (surprisingly not the bride or the groom) the Best Man, –short, well-built, similar stature to the groom, military, blond and... bouncing up and down on his tows and anxiously (and mostly conspicuously) checking his watch...? Sherlock frowned a little at that. Had no one else noticed this? Really? It's not like the man was being subtle? He flicked his gaze to the guests... nope, all still staring at the bride and groom ( _seriously? They're just standing there how are you not bored?_ ). He looked back at the best man, just to make sure he wasn't imagining things. He wasn't. The man was still anxious, still bouncing, and still checking his watch. What could it be? What could be so important he was worried about being late but not so important as to have the man run out of church right this second? Sherlock just couldn't put his finger on it...

 

John dashed out of the reception and into the warm clear night carrying his large suit bag. He really didn't want to be late and he hoped to whatever god was out there that he would get a ride out of here soon.

“Taxi! Taxi...! Over here!” He yelled, extending his hand. A shiny black taxi pulled up to the curb in just under two seconds. John thanked his royal stars and jumped in, giving the cabby the address. 

“Alright, I've got a deal for you. I'll give you three hundred pounds flat for the whole night, with a couple of conditions, you don't freak out and you don't look in the rear-view mirror or I deduct, got it?”

“Sounds good, sure.” The driver agreed almost instantly as they drove off.

“Great!” John stopped paying him attention for a second and zipped open his clothes bag. He started removing his suit as quickly as he could get the wretched thing off.

The cabby looked back at the strange sounds of grumbling coming from the back, “Oi, mate, what the bloody hell do you think you're up to?”

“Hey! What did I say about looking back here and freaking out! That's twenty pounds down the drain!” John yelled back.

  
“What...? Oh fine, whatever... m'not lookin', alright?” the cabby conceded as they sped towards their destination.

 

 

John dashed out of the cab (now changed into a very dapper and simple white Achkan with gold trim) into the indian theme decorated wedding venue. Knowing Mike, he'd be freaking out about the wedding and John had to be there to talk him round. He only hoped he wasn't too late. 

“Oh Thank god you're here!” One of the groomsmen exhaled, grabbing John and turning John around to face him “Mike is freaking out about the wedding,” ( _yup, knew it_ ) “you've gotta calm him down!”

John nodded his thanks and jogged his way to Mike “Alright, mate, hey, hey, I'm here. What's going on? What's wrong?” He asked calmly, grabbing the man's forearm in a friendly gesture.

 “I don't know if I can do this, John, it's a big responsibility, you know? What if I'm not good enough? And I mean look at her she's bloody gorgeous and I'm just, just... And and – What if she gets bored of being with me becomes a lesbian and leaves me for some hot thin woman? What if she decides she misses home after all and she divorces me for wanting to stay in England and she takes the kids and leaves me alone with nothing but my shit job at the paper? I don't know if I can deal with that kind of pressure, John!”

“Ok, Mike, mate, you've got to calm down, alright.” John smirked inwardly, oh Mike Stanford, you silly bastard, “First of all, you know my sister's gay right? She didn't become that way, she was born that way. Second, look at yourself, Mike, look at this wedding. Look at all you've done to make her happy. You love her and she loves you. You two decided on this step together for a reason. Trust me, everything is going to be fine. Just take a deep breath, exhale, good, just like that, and now look at me– Mike. Look at me. You're fine. It's all fine. Just breathe.” 

Mike visibly calmed. “Oh... thanks John. Thank you. God I feel much better. You're right. Of course you're right.” 

“Damn right I am. Now get up there and marry your gorgeous bride!” John smiled, clapped Mike on the back and turned to give the other groomsmen a thumbs up. Mission accomplished, Captain John Watson, wedding extraordinaire saves the day again.

 

And so the wedding continued with the Bride making her grand entrance and with the ceremony and photos going perfectly, if a bit slowly for John's needs. Still, it was lovely and with his job here done for the moment John ran out into the night again, making his way back to the cab in order to make it in time for his speech at Bill's. It was only half-way back to the Murray wedding that he noticed his cane was gone. John giggled as he changed, remembering he'd forgotten it.

The cabby looked back at him with a questioning brow  as he heard him giggle and caught a glance of John changing. John noticed him looking back “Oi, that's two-sixty now, you really want to keep this going?”

“...no” The Cabby rolled his eyes. They made it back just in time.

 

 

John made his speech, heartwarming yet quick and to the point, and most importantly quite perfect. 

When they finished their meal and sat listening to the roar of conversation around them in the hall Irene turned to John, gesturing at the pretty bridesmaids, “Okay, which do you want, the brunette or the blonde? I kind of want the blonde, I'm not going to lie-” 

“God Irene, keep it in your pants, yeah?” John blushed.

“Are you kidding? The only reason I come with you to these boring weddings and dress in these silly costumes is so I can get drunk off my arse tear a desperate bridesmaid's clothes off with my teeth!” Irene emphasized her point by taking a flower from the centre piece and sticking it between her teeth.

“Yeah well, ta for that lovely bit of information, you sex-addict.” John laughed taking a swig of his wine and getting up. “I'll be right back, yeah? Loo.” 

Irene waved him off and payed no notice as he ran away from her. She set her sights on the blonde girl, Kate, and gave her her sexiest 'come hither' smirk.

 

 

Sherlock stood outside the wedding hall making a phone call to his colleague, Molly, at the paper, and taking the occasional drags out of his cigarette. “What time is it now? No... I'm just going to be over there in about four hours so don't –” And then Sherlock saw him again, the Best Man. He'd disappeared for a few hours between the intermission in which the guests and the entire wedding party prepared themselves to move from the church into the dining hall. Sherlock had wondered where he'd gone and had been incredibly surprised to see the man suddenly appear come speech time. At first Sherlock thought that perhaps the man had gone off with one of the guests, during the interim but had found that all guests seemed to be accounted for and then he'd thought perhaps he'd had an appointment of some sort, but now here he was, running out again... “Listen, Molly, I'll uh... I'll call you back...” Sherlock followed John, noticing that he no longer carried his cane as he ran out towards the curb and straight towards a cab.

Sherlock tried to catch up but only just caught a glimpse of John quickly removing his suit in the car. 

“What the...?” 

Sherlock resolved to keep a close eye on John after he returned.

 

  

John made it back to Stamford's wedding for his speech and the traditional dance after dinner. After the party got properly started, with everyone dancing and drinking John saw his opportunity and dashed back out again to the Murray wedding to dance with Irene for a bit before she decided to fuck a bridesmaid in the dance hall again. And so it went for the rest of the night, John travelling between both parties, changing back and forth from his traditional black tux to his Achkan again.

 

In one memorable moment the cabby had yelled at him “Oi, wrong shoes!” and thrown John's dress slippers out through the door as John removed his fancy wedding loafers and struggled to catch the flying slippers. 

“Alright geez! Alright!”

 

Some more memorable moments included the awkward washroom conversations with the drunken grooms.

“Ugh, mate, I'm starving have you eaten anything?” Mike asked as John helped the staggering drunken man towards the washroom and directed him to the urinals, making sure he didn't accidentally fall into one.

“Oh yeah.” John said looking ahead at the vent and avoiding eye contact as Mike did his business.

“It looks lovely. I haven't eaten anything, and let me give you some advice, do not drink whiskey on an empty stomach, I feel like I'm about to tip over into my own piss.” He laughed as John frowned at him. 

“Yeah alright then, careful Mike.” John held in a smile

 

 A similar thing had happened at Bill's wedding, where John had held onto the man's suit jacket while Bill staggered doing his best not to miss the urinal. 

“You met my nan?” Bill had asked, awkwardly, his words slurring a bit.

“Oh yeah, she was lovely, really enjoyed her.” John had answered.

“I think she's having fun.” Bill had smiled.

“Yeah I bet.” John had said resolutely staring at the cubicle ahead. 

 _This one is going to be one for the books,_ John remembered thinking.

 

 

At the end of the night, for both weddings (different times of course) cake was served and the Bride and Groom got up to say their thanks to their guests. Both the grooms made similar speeches which melded together in John's memory because of their similarity. 

“I'd like to take a moment to give a special thank you to a certain man, who really went above and beyond,” Bill began... 

“the guy who not only hosted my bachelor party and helped my wife design the invitations. He also went with us to the caterer,” Mike had said,

“the florist, the bloody bakery, and to _eight_ different tailors where he helped me cling to my sanity as my wife made me try on suit after suit...”

“...so thanks John!”

 “Thank you, John Watson!”

 

During the applause at Bill's wedding there were some rather enthusiastic drunkards cheering and in one distracted moment one of the drunken groomsmen somehow elbowed John on the head and knocked him out cold.

 

John found himself waking to the vague figure of a blurry pale face with a mop of dark curls. The man above him changed shape from a blur to a handsome ethereal figure with high cheekbones, beautiful green eyes and perfect plump cupid's bow lips. He seemed to be saying something. He also wore a frown on his face as John's eyes focused on him. John stared, confused, when two bridesmaids appeared behind the man. Oh, right, Bill's wedding. What had ...?

The beautiful man turned his head back as he noticed the two figures behind him, then turned back to john, looking slightly annoyed. John moved to get up. 

“Whoa, hold on there, take it easy” The man turned his gaze back to the bridesmaids “Okay this is a serious injury I need you two to leave now before you cause this man to faint again with all your frantic buzzing. He needs air!” The man glowered when the bridesmaids just stood there worried looks on their faces, “Now!” He shouted impatiently.

 _That was rather rude._ John thought as the women scattered away.

“Alright, you can get up now,” the man said, urging John to sit up. 

“Right, thanks...” John said as he sat up slowly and inspected the back of his head for any bumps or blood... he felt fine, if a little jostled... “You a doctor then?” he asked, trying to make conversation with his apparent saviour.

“No, but you are.” The man smiled.

John stared at him for a second. “How did you...” 

The man rolled his eyes, imperiously “Your speech, John. Lovely story about your comradely with our Bill.”

“Ah, yes, well, thank you...” John looked to the man, noticing he didn't know his name.

“William.” The man supplied charmingly and extending his hand. 

John smiled and took his hand, “Right, William, thanks for your help.”

“No problem,” William smiled and helped John stand. “You good?” He asked.

John nodded but then staggered backwards. William smirked, holding him up “Why don't we call you a cab?” And with that William led John out of the party. He walked John to the cab he'd seen him previously using and got in with him. John meant to complain but he felt it would be awfully rude to kick William out of the car, especially since he was going through so much trouble to see John home safely.

 

They sat awkwardly on the ride as the cab began making its way back to John's apartment.

 

 

 

Sherlock was ecstatic, he'd finally had a chance to talk to John. He was amused at the man's embarrassment as they sat in the cab together. Sherlock smiled, not able to hold himself back as he turned to John and said, “Nice abs by the way.”

John turned to him, frowning “Excuse me?” 

“I saw you changing suits in the cab earlier while I was smoking,” Sherlock's eyes glittered. After watching John the whole night he'd figured out what John had been doing and now he _had_ to let John know he was busted, “You were at two weddings tonight weren't you? Pretty disturbing, don't you think?”

John visibly fumed and his cheeks flared pink, “They're both really good mates of mine and they had their wedding on the same night, what was I supposed to do?” 

“Dear God, how do you stand it? The noise? The people? Isn't one wedding bad enough?” Sherlock asked, deliberately poking fun at John. 

“I love weddings, I always have.” John stated flatly.

“Really? Which part? The forced merriment? The horrible music or the bad food? Perhaps it's the pointless celebration of all that is false? The irrational sentimentality in this ailing and morally compromised world? The honouring of the deathwatch that is the doom of our society and in time, certainly, our entire species?” 

“Actually it's meeting up-beat people like yourself.” John gave Sherlock a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Love is patient, love is kind, love means murdering your wife when you've lost your mind.” Sherlock drawled. 

“What is it you do again?” John interrupted, sarcastically.

“I am a writer.” Sherlock smiled his most creepy smile at John. 

“...right.” John nodded, turning his face towards the window.

Sherlock chuckled at John's visible annoyance. 

“This is my stop.” John sighed as the cabby pulled over. 

“I've got it,” Sherlock offered.

“No, no I've got it.” John pulled out his wallet.

“Sure?”

“Sure... Alright, hundred and forty - you know what you did – Oi, no!” John yelled at Sherlock (William) as he exited the car with John's cane “He – uh, he's going to be right back, please stay.” John begged the cabby and he clamoured out of the car with his other suit. 

“Don't you think it's just a whole lot of ritual for something that let's face it, is basically an excuse to give a job to the family idiot? Not to mention the unlikely chance that the couples actually stay together forever instead of the more likely divorce or in some more interesting cases, the adultery or murder that inevitably tears them apart?” Sherlock prodded. 

“Oh how refreshing, another cynical writer who doesn't believe in marriage.”

“I'm just trying to point out the hypocrisy of the spectacle.”

“How noble of you, do you also run around telling children that father christmas is a lie? Because someone needs to blow that shit wide open.”

“Ah, so you admit that believing in marriage is like the childish belief in Father Christmas?” Sherlock gave John a triumphant smile, _the cock_.

John stammered, “N-no. No! I – I don't know why I'm arguing this with a perfect stranger but yes, marriage like everything good and important isn't easy. Cynicism on the other hand, always is.”

With that John yanked his cane out of Sherlock's hands and walked towards his apartment building without so much as a by your leave. 

Sherlock continued his smirking and called out, “Any more weddings on the horizon, then Doctor Watson?”

“Bye!” John answered.

“How many have you attended by the way – just make an estimate!” Sherlock shouted, the glee on his face very audible in his speech.

“Fuck off!” John shouted and walked into the building.

 

Sherlock smiled wider and got back into the cab. He was still smiling on his way to 221b when he noticed a small black notebook on the seat of the car. He picked it up and stared at it for a second. It must belong to John Watson. 

“Could you...?” Sherlock addressed the Cabby,

 “Yeah...?” The cabby asked, rudely. Sherlock didn't know it but the cabby disapproved of the way Sherlock had mocked John. He'd been a nice guy, and there was nothing wrong with being a little romantic.

“You know what, never mind...” Sherlock said, his full attention on what turned out to be John Watson's Diary. He skimmed through just the past week and found all manner of appointments and schedules laid out for each day in chicken scratch so small and so horrid that Sherlock smiled to himself, knowing, that even if John hadn't mentioned being a doctor in his speech Sherlock would have been able to guess from his writing alone. He continued flipping through, looking farther and farther back in the pages seeing appointment after appointment and wedding after wedding penned in to various weekends. And an idea started to form in his head...

 

 

At that same moment John settled into his apartment. He struggled to put away his two suits from tonight into an incredibly cramped and small hall closet. There wasn't much room in John's bachelor apartment for him to put them in. He then settled in to sit on the couch in his pyjamas, grabbing the newspaper. 

“Death, destruction... another serial suicide... let's relax for now... wedding vows, there you are.” John murmured as he skimmed over his favourite writer's newest wedding vow story. 'A marvel in Pink' the title read, an incredible romantic story of a local newswoman and her husband and their cotton-candy pink wedding. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so still very similar to the movie script right now, please do not sue me. I'm literally wasting my life writing this because I love this romcom and johnlock more than anything when i should instead be doing something productive that actually makes me money. 
> 
> Anywho next chapter is coming soon. I'm almost done editing it.
> 
> Edit: I had to edit this one first as I realized after posting it how fucking bad it was. XD So yeah, it's not perfect but I suck and I'm too lazy to try and make it better (also I'm anxious to get to the next chapter.) John and Sherly are feeling a little ooc right now but I'm guessing it's because I'm half directly quoting Jane and Kevin/Malcolm. Anyway I'm half-way through the next chapter... soooo see you soon. Also if anyone wants to beta/edit. Go for it, I'm a horrible writer guys. I have to stop making John say mate. He's starting to sound like a pirate. "Matey mate mate." :P anyways bye!


	3. The London Journal and the Dream Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock presents his new story idea to his higher ups and John's dream girl returns from vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I edited chapters 1 & 2\. They're not perfect but they might be a little better. Sherlock was way too happy at the end of Chapter 2. Like, whoa man calm down.
> 
> Enjoy?????

Sherlock walked into the offices of the London Journal, hot coffee in his hands and a new story already in his head. He'd hardly been able to sleep last night and had spent most of the evening deciphering and copying John Watson's schedule into his phone while making various notes and deductions about him from what he'd written in his journal. He felt like he held John's very life in his hands, and that was definitely more interesting than any of the stories he'd had to work on recently.

He met Molly by the elevator on the way in “...and there's been another serial suicide, did you hear? Absolutely dreadful business.” She prattled on.

“Ah... noooo. I work Saturday nights, remember? Here,” He tossed a box of chocolates into her hands, “from the bride and groom.”

“Oh that's right, you were off eating coconut cake and dancing with pretty girls, such a burden!” She said in a rare event of quiet sarcasm, “So, how was it?”

“Oh, dear god, let me think...” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “The bride wore a gown that sparkled like the groom's eyes as he saw her approaching through a shower of rose petals... or something equally as preposterous.”

“Awwww” Molly cooed, “Sherlock how do you say all that in just one breath and stand there telling me you don't believe in true love? Even if you say it sarcastically it still sounds so lovely. You've made commitments the golden standard of wedding announcements. Every girl on the planet rips open that page first thing Sunday! Brides kill to get in there. Sherlock you're an honoured guest at their weddings, I'm sure you'd meet someone if you just–”

“Molly, there are several things wrong with your current statement. First, just because _you_ believe that senseless prattle doesn't mean _every girl_ does. Your gross exaggeration of that fact is not only incorrect but incredibly sexist, and quite frankly I am appalled if not offended on your sex's behalf." (Molly smacked him playfully at that as Sherlock smirked and dodged the hit), "Second, you overestimate how far our readership actually reaches. We're the London journal, Molly. _London_. A more accurate statement would be 'most overly romantic women in london rip open that page'. Third and most importantly, I've said it once and I'll say it again, girls are not really my area, nor do I want them to be.”

Molly sighed “Well a nice _guy_ then. I'm sure there are plenty of gay men who read the section! Just because you act all macho all the time” Sherlock frowned and opened his mouth to retort but Molly only spoke louder, “doesn't mean other men aren't romantic!”

Their friend Lestrade chose that moment to peek around the corner and added “She's right you know. With that silver tongue of yours I bet you could rope anyone into bed with you. And you have covered some of the soppiest gay weddings I've ever seen, so I mean at least you know they lean the same way you do. Do you have any idea what you could be doing?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“You mean to men who are about to get married...?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, they won't call you, they won't bother you, they'll pretend they've never even met you. You can't beat that.” Greg answered.

“If I wanted anonymous sex with strange gay men I'd join grindr.” Sherlock deadpanned. “Besides, it's not going to matter much longer anyway. You're looking at my ticket out of taffeta hell!” Sherlock held up the little black diary with clear and obvious excitement.

“Keep on dreaming Sherlock.” Greg said as Molly rolled her eyes, “Your brother will never approve.”

“Speaking of my brother, don't you two have work to do? Please, do go away.” Sherlock shooed them with his hand and began typing on his computer. Greg and Molly glanced at each other then walked silently, yet petulantly back to their own desks.

 

John carried three cups of coffee and some breakfast in a paper bag as he walked into the clinic that morning. Just behind him a car screeched to a halt and honked as the driver squeezed herself into a parallel parking spot just outside the building.

“Irene” He greeted, looking her up and down. Her hair was a mess and she wore a dress that seemed a little too small and too colourful for her usual tastes.

“What? I wasn't going to come to work in my groomsman suit!”

“Two day walk of shame outfit. Classy.” John commented. Irene simply giggled.  
  
“Give me my coffee, you wicked boy.” She teased, as they walked towards the change rooms, “Now you must tell me what happened the other night, you were barely there and then you just disappeared. I was terribly lonely, you know. You meet someone?”

“You know I didn't.” John replied in a dry tone.

“Of course, how silly of me to think so. The perfect doctor Watson having his wicked way with perfectly willing bridesmaids...”

John rolled his eyes, “Morning Jim.” He greeted the small surly nurse as he walked into the reception hall of the clinic, “You haven't seen my diary perhaps, have you? I can't find it.”

“No.” He answered, carelessly. Irene said nothing and simply stared at Jim, the lazy little rat.

“No?” John asked again, “Fine, I'll go look. Oh! Did you get those results from Mrs. Hudson's hip x-ray? Mary wants to see them right away.”

“No.” Jim answered again, in the same bored tone.

“Okay, no worries, I'll uh, get them from the doctor myself.”

“Kay.” Jim said and went back to typing.

 

“Yes, John, great show of power there. You really showed him who the boss is.” Irene followed John towards his office.

“Technically I'm not his boss.” John reminded her.

“You're a Doctor, he's a nurse. Same difference. What's the good in having that fancy medical degree if you're not going to abuse your power over nurses?” Irene winked. John didn't reply to the bait, certain she was thinking of something incredibly inappropriate

“Irene go take someone's blood sample or something.”

“ _Now_ you're bossy.” Irene groaned.

 

John spent half of the morning seeing patients in and out of his office, calling up that doctor for those missing x-rays and looking all over his office for that damned diary. He had a back up of his schedule on his computer calendar, of course, but he needed to see some notes, and quite frankly he preferred having something physical to write in.

“Where did I fucking put that thing?” He wondered aloud.

 

 

Sherlock slapped the diary onto Anthea's desk. “This! This is a brilliant idea for the front page of the section.” He declared.  
  
Anthea simply stared up at him from her computer, “You know he won't approve, Sherlock why do you keep asking?”

“I don't need his approval, Anthea, I just need yours. I'm telling you, it's a great idea.”

“Really?” Anthea did not look convinced. “As great as your last great idea? An exposé on two hundred and forty types of tobacco ash and how to use the knowledge to find out if people's partners who smoke are either planning to murder them or are having an affair?”

“Two hundred and forty three. And, yes, Anthea that information is vital! Hundreds of people round the world are either being taken advantage of by their tobacco addicted partners or spouses and just as many are being murdered by them, and they could all avoid such trouble if they simply learned to observe! I'm doing them a favour! Isn't that kinder? The statistics are really quite ridiculous, I know, I did the research, Anthea. _I know ash_.”

“Yes, terribly unfortunate, also, no one cares.” 

“Alright, fine! What about the piece I wanted to do on the trends in suicides after singles attended weddings? That was an incredibly interesting piece!”

“Yes, Sherlock, that's what people want to read about in the _style_ section,” A thick and oily voice from behind him remarked. Sherlock's back stiffened at the sound of it. _Mycroft!_  “This section pays for about seventy percent of the entire section–” He continued talking, disregarding Sherlock's obvious anger.

“Sixty-eight point four.” Sherlock corrected, turning to glare at his brother.

“Yes, well, close enough. It doesn't change what the advertisers want, which is what they call 'fun' 'upbeat' and 'colourful' human interest stories to sit opposite their products.”

“So that's what it's come down to then, brother,” Sherlock replied, “making money.”

“Sherlock.” Mycroft warned.

“Just listen! Look, I understand how... 'not good' those other stories may have been for the section, but this one – this one is! Look, this man has been in seven weddings...” Sherlock emphasized his point by opening up the diary and pointing out the yearly calendar.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, completely unimpressed, “And?”

“ _This year_.” Sherlock continued, “And before you ask, no, he's not part of the wedding circuit. He does this all, apparently for the _fun_ of it! He attended two on Saturday alone! But this won't just be about him. It'll be an incisive look at how the wedding industry has transformed something which should really not be regarded so highly in the first place to some corporate revenue stream poorly disguised as a sham fantasy..." Sherlock stopped, realizing how cynical that sounded and amended, "You know... in a fun... 'upbeat', 'cheerful,'”(Sherlock shuddered at the word,) “kind of way.” He leaned against Anthea's desk and implored his brother, “Look Mycroft, I'm dying of boredom back there in commitments. You know what happens when I get bored. I swear to you if I have to write another sentence about baby's breath I will shoot myself and you'll be to blame for all this. Mummy won't be at all pleased with you about that, nor will Mrs. Hudson when she spies the amount of blood that will smatter her walls after I blow my brains out. This is a _real_ story! _This_ is what I want to do.”

Mycroft hesitated, “Sherlock, I need you covering weddings. You are embarrassingly good at it, and despite that, _that_ is what I need from you right now.”

“If you don't start giving me feature stories I swear to you, Mycroft I will quit and go back to illegally chasing murderers in London while doing astounding amounts of cocaine. I hear there are some interesting serial suicides going on right about now, by the way, how's Anderson handling those stories, hmm?”

Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Alright Sherlock, one chance. If I don't like it you go back to commitments for the rest of your life with a big smile on your face.”

Sherlock glared. “Fine.” He grabbed the diary from the now silently amused Anthea's desk and stormed out of the office. It was all for show, of course, because he'd gotten what he wanted in the end.

 

 

Back at the clinic John stood sorting through print-outs of the mock-ups for the clinic's new ads. “Do you think she'll like these? Mary, I mean.” He asked Irene as she swirled around on his swivelling chair staring at the ceiling.

“Yes, John I think she'll take one look at our new advertisements and realize she's madly in love with you, take you into her office and have you for hours and hours until you beg for mercy twice.”

“Shut up, Irene!" John threw a pen at her lap attempting to grab her attention. "And for the record I would never beg for mercy.” 

Irene stopped swirling in the chair and looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “Twice.” She declared, “Tell me that cute little crush is the reason you work yourself to the bone, because it's a little disturbing.”

“I just like my job, okay? I feel useful.”

“No, you just think that one day Mary's going to wake up and realize she likes cock, and she's going to make some spectacular gesture of lus–”

“Letter for you John.” Jim suddenly interrupted and handed John an unsigned envelope from the door.

“Thank you Jim,” John started but Jim closed the door before John finished the sentence.

Irene raised her eyebrow again and grabbed the envelope. John scowled at her and snatched it back. “Your face'll get stuck like that one day, you'll see.” He grumbled and tore open the envelope with his letter-opener. And pulled out a simple card with the just the following words typed out:

 

> _'Dearest John,_
> 
> _Drinks tonight... if convenient?_
> 
> _If inconvenient get drinks anyway?'_

 

John stared at it for a few seconds. Irene snatched it back and the note.

“It's not got a signature.” John said, looking at Irene.  
  
“Oh John, you don't seriously think it's from your dream-girl do you?”

John rolled his eyes, “Could you stop talking about it so loudly, nobody knows.”

“Everybody knows, John, except Mary.” Irene sighed.

“It's true.” Jim's voice sounded over the intercom. John had to stop the little wretch from hacking the intercom and listening in on his conversations. In the meantime he settled for giving Irene an accusing look. Irene just shrugged.

 

Suddenly, a dog barked out in the hallway and pushed his way in through the door. “Redbeard! Hi there, fellow, how are you today?” John asked the young service dog in training. John fussed over him and scratched just behind his ears.

“Alright Redbeard, enough slobbering on my doctors.” Mary stuck her head in the office and smiled at both Irene and John.

John stood at attention immediately, “Hi!” Irene gave him a look, he tried to relax a bit but found he was still smiling very wide. John tried to ignore the feeling of his cheeks flaring up and went forward in his greeting. “How was it?” He asked Mary as she entered the office.

“It was phenomenal. The work was really quite fulfilling. Started up in Columbia and we worked out way down to Peru. Reached about fifteen clinics and all in one week, our best time yet.”

“Amazing! Isn't it like the eighth time you've gone over to South America?”

“I've lost count, honestly” Mary laughed, a sweet sound that rang through the small office “How you remember that is beyond me.”

John laughed nervously, “Don't know, but uh... changing the subject... we just got the new ads in, what do you think?”

Mary turned her attention to the ads laid out on the desk, “Hmm, I think they're a bit too, you know,” She made a gesture with her hand flicking her nose up.

“Snooty?” John asked.

“That's the word.”

“Yeah, I agree, makes us look like a stuck-up high-class only sort of place. I will call the designer, let him know.”

“Perfect, John, that's why I keep you around, I mean who else will finish my sentences?” Mary laughed making her way out of the office, John trailing behind her.

John smiled and continued to update her on the things she'd missed on her trip and had left John in charge of, “Mrs. Hudson's had her hip x-rayed, I just want to give you her updated progress sheet. Seems fine for now but you might want to have her come in again next month, since she's getting on in her years. You've got some returning patients, Mrs. Turner and her son, coming in for an appointment at eleven and Bart's called asking if you'll be attending the benefit. I left the number on your desk but if you'd like... Should I call them back and let them know you're attending?”

“Do I have to make a speech again?” Mary asked, scowling.

“Ah, Just a few words on your trip to South America and the benefits of training new doctors down there. You know, something adventurous and fun while keeping on the seriousness of the mission. You in?”

“Yeah, yeah, let's do it. Call them, back for me, will you? But I'll probably have to dig up a date for that, won't I?”

John blushed “Yeah, probably.”

“Well thank god there's the one part of my life you don't have to take care of for me, right John?”

“Heh, yeah.” John turned back towards his office as Mary closed the door to hers. Irene followed him in, “Oh. My. God. John Watson, you poor soul,” She commented.

“Shaaaadap” John answered.

“John!” Mary's voice called from her office.

John clamoured to open his door, “Yeah?” He asked, peeking round the door out at her.

“Did you put that paper bag with the breakfast sandwich on my desk?”

“I just thought you might be a bit peckish.”

Mary gave him a winning smile, “That's why I love you!” She exclaimed happily and popped her head back into her office, presumably to eat.

John stood by his door, staring after her. “I love you too.” He whispered.

Irene pulled his arm and turned him to face her, then she she gave him a good slap in the face for good measure.

“Ow!” John looked angry for a moment, but soon realized what he'd just said. “Oh. Yeah. That... Thanks. I... um ahem... yeah, right, I um...needed...th- just- you... back to work!”

“With pleasure.” Irene walked out of his office to go do some much-needed paper work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's still a little ooc and so is Sherlock... along with everyone else. I'm hoping me sneaking in quotes from the show makes them act more themselves but... ah... difficult with this story. >.>
> 
> ~~You know what I realized I fucked up on though? The Cabby. I could have just... but maybe I still can... I'd just have to go back and edit the beginning. What do you guys think? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?~~   
>  **[Edit] I left the cabby. I think what I'm thinking can still work, and i can explain the logic later.**
> 
> Another note: this could have easily worked the other way around as well, with John being a wedding blog writer and Sherlock being an obsessive and amazing wedding wedding planner by deducing the couple's dream weddings or whatever... Consulting wedding planner! Dammit! Buuuuuut uhhhhh fuck it, this one works fine for now. Maybe I'll re-write it the other way after I finish this one. Anyways, enough rambling.


	4. The Angry Marriage Hater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John picks up his sister Harry from the airport and then attends Jim's engagement party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst begins.

“Okay everybody, I hope to see you all at my engagement party tonight! And John, thanks again for arranging everything.” Jim announced from his desk giving John a smile that in all honesty, kind of freaked him out. Everyone sort of nodded or confirmed their attendance as they milled out. 

“Not a problem.” John answered politely. Irene just gave Jim a look and kept walking.

When they were out of earshot Irene addressed John, “Hey would you like to join us at my place before the party? Some of the other nurses are coming over and they're bringing tequila and stethoscopes.” She winked. 

John lifted a brow, “Right, well fun as that all sounds I can't. I've got to pick Harry up from the airport.”

“My goodness wouldn't it be great if you could hire a service to do that? Like black cars with yellow checkered stripes down the side and–” 

“I _want_ to pick her up, she's my baby sister. She needs my help.”

“Ugh... how sweet.” Irene commented as they separated. “Sickeningly so.”

John rolled his eyes and waved back at her as he made his way to the airport.

 

  

People walked this way and that, dragging around luggage and embracing loved ones in the crowded waiting areas. John paid them no mind as he stood in cleared off space and waited anxiously for his little sister to appear. The plane was about an hour behind schedule and John's leg was beginning to ache a little. The doors opposite John opened for what seemed like the thousandth time today when John finally spotted a familiar head of long blonde curls. Harry's smiling form appeared from the crowd. She was bouncing up and down on her toes as she made her way towards John. Her smile was as bright and radiant as always.

“Hi!” John beamed at her and held his arms out in invitation.

Harry took it and squeezed John into a tight hug squealing, “Yay!” 

John laughed and made to grab her luggage, “Wow, when did you start travelling so light?” John asked as he felt the lightness of the small pack in her hands. 

“Oh!” Harry turned to an extremely handsome man behind her who was smiling and dragging a huge suitcase that suspiciously enough matched perfectly with Harry's bag. “I always meet the _nicest_ people on planes!” Harry explained, smiling at the gentleman. 

“Hmm...” John gave Harry a knowing look and put his arm around her, “Come on I parked in P9” he said, letting the man continue to carry Harry's luggage. Harry giggled and followed John along, gesturing the man to follow.

 

 

On the car ride home Harry regaled John with stories about her modelling adventures in New York and LA as well as about her most recent girlfriend... all the way from the airport to John's flat.

 

“Clara said she wanted to come back to London with me, of course...” She continued as John led her through the door, “But I told her that I needed space _._ _Espacio_ _, Clara,_ _Espacio._ ” She emphasized in Spanish.

John smiled at her indulgently and wheeled the rather large suit cases stacked on top of each other into the hall.

“Oh! This is so tiny and cute,” Harry commented with her trademark grin, “I love it!”

“Hmm.” John agreed, knowing full well she didn't mean it, but deciding to keep his mouth shut.

“God, it's so good to be home. Six months away feels like forever.” Harry plopped herself onto the couch and picked up John's framed article of their parent's wedding. She smiled again, genuine this time, if a little melancholy. She turned to John as he finished struggling with the luggage letting the door slam closed on its own, “They were my age, you know.” She remarked.

“Yeah... It was the perfect wedding.” John agreed as he came over to stand behind her and look, his recent mail in his hands. “The Park, the view of the sea, the manor, the band, the ceremony at sunset...” 

“Yeah except that suit. I mean, lace, frills, powder blue...?” Harry scrunched up her nose.

John grinned, it was rather cheesy and incredibly tacky, but he loved it, “I think it was perfect.” He stated.

“Well, they really did love each other...” Harry answered.

“Hmm.” John agreed as he sorted through his mail.

Harry picked at a stash of papers she found under the framed article. “...What are these?”

John, who was sorting through his mail suddenly looked down at her, his face flushing pink. 

“Are these...?”

“No!” John grabbed at them defensively. Harry moved her arm out of his reach to read the titles of the articles.

“Wedding announcements?” She asked incredulously.

“I'm– no! I was just–” John took them out of her hands as Harry beamed up at him, her eyes twinkling with the sure-to come mocking insults, “Excuse me. I was going to recycle those.” He finished lamely.

“Oh excuse me, into what? Wallpaper?” Harry teased.

John huffed out a breath in embarrassment. “It's just... this one writer, Sherlock Holmes. I only keep his. He writes the best ones.” John put them back where he had them and went over to the kitchen to make tea. “Just... I ...enjoy... the stories, alright? The crazy proposals, the engagements...” John looked towards Harry as he put the kettle on, but she was already distracted, taking some hand cream out of her purse and rubbing it on her skin. “...Yeah never mind.” He said, quietly then asked, “So um, How long are you saying?”

“Er... bout a week or two?” Harry answered, unsure, “Cuz this season's fashion shows are up so I don't have much work.”

“Oh speaking of work, I'm meeting up with some people from the clinic tonight for a party. You want to come?” John asked as he poured the now-ready tea into two cups.

“Actually... I'm having drinks with some friends from Miami...” Harry looked at John apologetically.

“So... let me get this right, you would rather go have drinks with swimsuit models than come to my incredible doctor party?” John teased as he brought tea over. 

“Weird innit?” Harry answered taking her tea and grinning at John.

“Heartless even.” John agreed. 

“I'll try to make it.” Harry promised. 

“Well thanks.” John answered as Harry got up. “Milk is in the fridge, sugar's on the counter and in the cupboard there are some –”

“BISCUITS AND JAMMY DODGERS! JINX!” Harry yelled as John spoke the same words, both burning towards each other and pointing a finger in a long remembered game.

“Ha! I said it first, I win!” Harry exclaimed in glee and bounced over to the cupboard to get some biscuits.

“Oh darn, foiled again.” John laughed.

 

 

 

 

 

It was a clear night and Sherlock could feel the excitement coursing through him as he looked through the diary to make sure he had the correct address to give to the cabby as he got into the car. “Hmm... thirty-two thirty-seven Cowper Street.” He told the the driver as they began moving. 

“Right away, sir.” The cabby answered.

 

 

 

Lights and sounds flashed and blared from every direction. People were dancing and drinking and generally everyone seemed to be having a blast in the club that night. John and Irene stood by a table having some drinks and people watching. John kept looking towards the entrance hoping to spot Mary. It was well into the night when he saw her finally arrive. 

“Hey, Jim, nice party!” John saw her call to the host as she entered. 

“Thanks for coming!” Jim answered, looking decidedly drunk hanging from his fiancée Sebastian's neck.

Mary made a b-line over to John and Irene, looking nervously at the gift station. She'd forgotten to get something... She looked at John, her eyes wide in a sudden panic.

“You got them champagne glasses and a bottle of crystal” John reassured her.

Mary visibly relaxed, “Oh good. Any chance he'll actually believe it's from me?”

“He should. I wrapped it like a train ran over it.” John laughed.

Mary joined in his laughter, “Nice touch,” She said, “Alright, look, I'm going to go to the bar and grab a couple of drinks, you need want anything? A little liquid courage? Maybe something a little stronger for you” Mary said, looking at Irene.

Irene laughed her denial and held up her drink. 

“No, I'm good, thanks.” John smiled, holding up his whiskey.

Mary shrugged, “Alright...” She said, leaving.

 Irene smacked John.

“What the fuck, Irene?”

“She asks you if you want a drink, you smile charmingly, lead her to the bar, and you let her buy you a drink. If you already have a drink you down it and say gin and tonic, then there's some flirting, some inner office sex, an accidental pregnancy, a shot-gun wedding and a life of bliss!” She explains, “How many times do we have to go over this?” 

John rolled his eyes and stared at Mary while she stood at the bar taking a swig of beer.

“I don't want her to think I'm irresponsible.”

“Yes John, that's what Mary wants, a _responsible gentleman_ , hmm.”

“You're wrong. Mary appreciates me for the way I am.” John answered. 

“What good is it being appreciated if no one is naked?” Irene asked. 

John made a face at her.

“John,” Mary was back, looking slightly flustered, “I meant to ask... did you get that thing I sent you this morning?” 

 _Thing? What thing? ... Wait... Could it really be?_ John looked at Irene. It seemed she was thinking the same thing as she stared between John and Mary with wide eyes. “Th-this morning?” he stammered.

“Yes... was that... okay?”

“Okay?” John was stunned, was this really happening? “It was great!”

“Okay, good, yeah, right, because you know, we... haven't really had that kind of relationship before so I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

John nodded his head up and down wordlessly. 

“Mary!” Someone shouted from the bar. 

“Excuse me,” Mary smiled and walked back over to her friends.

John ducked his head, blushing. Irene still had her mouth open like a gaping fish.

“Oh... my god.” John said, turning to her, “She sent the note! She asked me out. Irene! She– Mary! Mary asked me out!” 

“Okay, stop it. This is real life. This is not one of your silly little fantasies,” Irene said, “John, you've got to go over there lead her into the washroom and show her how you feel. It's now or never John, so, Now.”

“Now!” She repeated as John just stood there, nodding.

“Yeah.” John agreed. 

“Now, go! NOW!” Irene said pushing him towards Mary.

John startled, “Yeah, yeah, right, yeah.” He stammered as he walked towards her.

John felt himself getting calmer and calmer as he walked with purpose towards Mary, already planning his approach. He was going to grab her, kiss her senseless and tell her exactly how in love with her he was. _Breathe Watson, breathe, remember the three continents, you can do this._ He thought. 

As he walked closer he noticed that Mary didn't seem to be paying attention to what her friends were saying. She had her eyes focused towards the entrance of the club, her neck straining to look above the crowd.

“Excuse me.” He saw her say as she pushed away from her friends, her face looking completely entranced. 

John frowned a little at that but continued to walk towards her, as he got closer and closer John's face started to fall. He knew that gaze. It was the one he was sure he was always giving Mary. Cautiously he followed her gaze as he approached her but was distracted as he noticed Harry walking in to the club looking absolutely gorgeous as usual. He forgot about Mary for a second as he saw the dimples on his sister's cheeks as she grinned. He noticed she was looking straight ahead, though, and not at John, so he followed her gaze as well and found... it was settled on Mary, who continued to walk towards her. John felt himself stop just as he came to meet both of them in their path towards each other. Both Mary and Harriet seemed not to notice him as they stared at each other and he stood there looking from one to the other. Harry gave Mary a coy look, her mouth opening almost as if she was going to say something, then seemed to startle as her peripheral vision registered her brother.

“John,” She gasped, and then gestured at Mary.

John shook himself, “Right! Sorry, Mary this is my sister Harriet, Harry this is my Mary– no! I didn't mean it like that I–” 

“John is one of my top doctors, and occasionally doubles as my assistant. Kind of like my right hand.” Mary explained. 

“Lucky him.” Harry flirted. John smiled before her words registered then gave her a look. _Really Harry?_

“Yeah...” Mary answered, “Usually... whatever I need he takes care of. That is... and as if I didn't take enough advantage of him already... I sent my dry-cleaning slip to him this morning.”

John looked up and shut his eyes in an understanding yet very disappointed frown, “Her dry-cleaning slip, of course.” 

“But- you know, it was a bit of an emergency... so...” Mary stammered.

“Of course,” Harry looked very serious. “A good fluff and fold is no joking matter.”

Mary giggled her agreement, “Yes especially when you've got a party to attend and have absolutely nothing to wear.”

Harry gave her an appreciative look that said everything she thought about the idea of Mary wearing nothing and answered with a giggle, “Right.”

John stared at the floor, annoyed and more than a little upset. 

Mary still didn't take her eyes off his sister. “You want to go get a drink?” She asked her.

“Came to get a drink with my brother,” Harriet answered, but took Mary's arm and followed her to the bar, “Johnny,” She called for him to follow.

 

John stood there for a second letting them walk away. He doubted they'd notice his absence anyway. Just then he felt someone tap his shoulder twice. He turned in surprise as he heard who it was before he saw them,

 

“Hi,” The deep and melodious voice that could belong to none other than the annoyingly handsome William greeted, “How are you?” He asked, “Was that note a bit much?”

John gaped at him.

“You... It was from you.”

“Yep.” He made a popping sound at the 'p'.

“You sent the note?” John repeated.

“Uh huh.” The man nodded, grinning.

“The... angry marriage hater.”

Williams smile faltered and he looked to the side a second as John continued,

“Oh that's such... such _good_ news. _Good_ news.” With each word he seemed to grow more and more angry, “Here, could you just hold this for a tic?” John asked, handing William his glass.

 

Sherlock stood there confused with the drink in his hand as he watched Doctor Watson limp his way through the crowd and open a door at the nearest side of the club.

 

“Mother FUCKER!” John Screamed.

 

Sherlock stared at him yelling from a distance, slightly shocked.

 

“God, FUCKING dammit! Why?! Why? FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUCK!” John yelled as he punched at the wall to his left.

Suddenly he looked up and noticed the silence in the alley as well as a bunch of smokers staring at him. John blinked and felt himself flush in embarrassment.

“Oh... I'm...erm...that is...” He stammered, then frowned slightly, “Those things will kill you, you know.” He said gesturing at the cigarettes. He backed up into the club a bit, “Right... well... carry on.”

John made his way back over to William with his face still slightly flushed. William was beaming so brightly John had the urge to knock his stupid fucking teeth out of that ridiculously pretty face right then and there. Instead, he grabbed his drink from William's hand and knocked it back. 

“Feel better?” William asked raising a brow. John nearly hit him. 

“What were you saying?” He asked instead, daring William to say something rude.

Sherlock looked at John's eyes and decided it was best to get down to brass tax, before John hit him in the face, “I just asked if you'd gotten my note.” Sherlock answered, “Oh and I have something for you,” He looked down for a moment and rifled through his messenger bag.

John looked towards the bar and saw Mary whispering something into his sister's ear. Harry laughed flirtatiously.

“I'm going to give you...” William said, getting out what looked like a familiar little black book and handing it to John, “here you are.”

“Oh my god!” John relaxed for a second, realizing what it was, “Thank god!”

“Not quite. But yes, you left it in the cab,” William answered “and it was either the engagement party tonight or yoga with Irene, so I thought that...”

“You read my diary?” John frowned at William.

“Yep. Well, no, I _tried_ to read it, but you've got rather messy writing, you know, being a doctor and all. You know, they do have these new fangled inventions, they call them 'smart phones' and they take care of everything quite nicely for you.” William informed.

“Okay, well I don't need to be taken care of, thank you.” John said flatly and began walking away.

“Wait– John, wait, come on... Have a drink with me?” William asked.

“I... you know... William... thank you for bringing back my diary, I really appreciate that–”

William smiled at John as he spoke.

“Look, John, it's a drink not a week in Paris. Come, it'll relax you.”

John opened his mouth to answer. “N-”

“Just one drink.” William insisted.

“I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm really not having very much... fun tonight.” John finished, looking towards the bar again.

“I understand completely, John. Soooo maybe I'll bump into you during morning yoga?” Seeing John's livid expression Sherlock quickly amended, “Maybe not. I'll see you around,” He nodded his goodbye and swaggered towards the exit waving at John without looking back.

 _Good riddance,_  thought John. 

Irene ran up to him suddenly, “Oooooh, who was that and where can't I get one?” She asked. 

“Aren't you meant to be gay?” John sighed.

“I am.” She answered, “But look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face,” her voice wistful. 

“You're the worst.” John stated and walked away from her making his way towards Mary and his Sister. They seemed deeply engrossed in conversation when John approached them. “It's late. You must be exhausted, let's... you want to, er...” John gestured at Harry that they should leave. 

She turned towards Mary suddenly, “Let's go dancing!” She exclaimed, excitedly. 

“What?!” John asked “You're in a club, you can dance here!” He continued, “Besides I don't think Mar–”

“Of course I do. I'll go!” Mary nodded, standing up, “I have to warn you though, I'm a horrible dancer.”

“Come on.”

“No it's a fact. I've been told on several occasions... you want to er... come too John?” Mary asked, finally looking at him.

Harry gestured subtly for John to decline. 

“Er... no I'm er... Bit knackered, really. You girls go, have a good time.” He answered.

“Sure?” Marry asked.

“Yep... go on you two.” John said making an awkward gesture. 

Mary smiled and patted his arm, then she got up and boldly took Harry's hand as they began walking away. Harry turned back towards John and mouthed “Thank you!”

John sat at a bar stool, smiled weakly at them and waved good bye to his sister.

 

 

 

 

John checked the front door of the flat for the fifth time that night, opening it and looking out into the hall just to be sure. Nope. No one. He slammed the door shut and resolved himself to going to sleep.

 

“Go to sleep John, go sleep.” He whispered to himself “Ugh. _Three a.m._?!” He grumbled, checking the clock. “Fuck it.” John tossed back the covers and got back up, turning all the lights on. He paced the living room for a second. Looked down, saw a newspaper, picked it up and pretended to read it. _Police still having trouble finding the connection between the serial suicides... new italian place opened up down the street... Harry with her arms around Mary's neck... Mary dancing sensually with Harriet... their lips meeting... DAMMIT! - Wait, was that the lift?_ John's ears perked up. _Nope. Nothing_. He sighed and got up from his chair. He decided perhaps if he had a wash he might feel relaxed and clean enough to sleep. He went into the washroom and started applying the shaving cream.

 

Half an hour later John found himself on the computer, updating his wedding blog with photos of Mike and Bill's weddings. _In retrospect perhaps looking at happy couples isn't my best idea right now,_ he thought as he looked at the front door for the hundredth time tonight. _Maybe I'll do some push ups. Calm me down._  

 

Two hours after that John was talking to himself while scrubbing down the stove. “What's that Harry? She turned out to be straight? Well, I could have told you that, love, with the way she looks at me. I know, I'm sorry, it's just I spend every hour of every day with her so of course I know these things and I just think that you shouldn't–” Just then the front door opened and John bumped his head on the cupboard above the stove. “Fuck.” He whispered. 

“Hey!” Came Harry's voice, “Still up?” 

“Heyyy,” John answered nervously, “Yup, yeah, just... doing a little tidying up, you know, here and there.”

“Oh John, I had the most amazing night. The best ever.”

“Right, right. I'd um, I'd completely forgotten you'd stayed out.”

“Is that weird for you?” Harry asked, a look of mild concern crossing her face.

“What?!” John asked, completely anxious “No, it's not weird. She's my boss, I don't care, why would it be weird?”

Harry beamed, “Okay great because we're having lunch tomorrow.”

“Oh that's so great!” John panicked and his voice sounded a tad hysterical.

“Yeah, I thought so too, just not quite that... ermm” Harry didn't finish her sentence, eyeing John suspiciously.

John laughed nervously. 

Harry looked at him for another second, then shrugged, “So... tell me about Mary!” She said instead, excitement clear in her voice and the way she jumped up and down on the couch, her expression eager.

John looked at the way her face lit up when she said the name. _Fuuuuuuuck._ “I... I... ah... she ah... well she was a young genius and top of her class in Uni, then she visited the top five most impoverished cities in the world and helped set up new clinics in each ... and then she came back to London where she became Bart's youngest female surgeon and after that she started her very own practice and pharmaceutical company all at once, both of which she runs today...”

“Wow!” Harry gasped.

“And that's just her CV. She is an unbelievable boss. Everybody loves her, everybody. And she loves the service dogs she trains more than anyone else. She doesn't eat meat, which is pretty sweet of her, and she would rather spend all her time helping people than anything else.” John continued, smiling wistfully.

“God she sounds amazing...” Harry sighed.

“Yeah... yeah but she er... she has flaws.” John cringed even as he said the words, “She does... she iiiis flawed...”

Harry gave him a sceptical look.

“Such as?”

“Oh... well she...” John searched for something... anything he could say against Mary and could find nothing really horrible about her, “She um... enjoys going to the gun range, which I think is a little odd, and she's got suspiciously good aim for a civilian and that honestly scares me a bit.”

 

“John those aren't exactly deal breakers, they sound more like pretty cool hobbies. Besides, you can shoot a gun and your army training makes you a pretty good shot but you don't see me freaking out about it. You sexist.”

John didn't register the second half of that comment.“Deal...?” John repeated, “What deal? I mean... er... Nothing happened between the two of you... did it?”

Harry looked down shyly, “Well...” she said flushing a pretty shade of pink.

John tried his best to smile, “Oh...well, er... Heh... too much information, Harry,” He chastised as he watched her walk towards her bedroom with that shy smile.

“Don't ask if you don't want to know big brother...” Was all she said as she sauntered in and closed the door behind her. 

_Fuck._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angry marriage hater! Heheheh. Sherlock is such a little shit. Also Harry: sassy bitch.
> 
> Apologies for the ensuing angst.


	5. So it begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Mary [lololol it Rhymes!] start seeing each other. Angst happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defence I did not remember all this sadness was in the movie before I started writing this shit. I should add angst as a tag. with happy ending though.
> 
> ps. I have not edited this at all. I'm sleepy. goodnight.

The sun shone brightly outside that morning. John carried a bag of groceries in a paper back and limped slightly towards the little local house-ware shop. The door opened with a jingle and he greeted loudly “Hullo, mum?”

 

His mother was behind the register sorting out some small knick-knacks. “Oh hullo, love, how are you today?” She responded and left the things in order to come round to give John a hug. Behind him the bell of the shop rang again and in walked Harry. Their mother's eyes lit up in surprise. “Oh! Harriet!” She let go of John and rushed to hug her. John smiled at them both. “Surprise!” He laughed.

 

“Oh dears, what a lovely surprise,” the old woman gushed, “Harriet, just look at you! You look absolutely beautiful.”

 

“Oh mum, thank you.” Harry giggled, “This place looks... exactly the same!”

 

“Now, dear, that's not true at all! Johnny didn't I just get new wall-paper? And we just had the windows re-done. The floors were just cleaned last night too!”

 

“I'm sorry mum, I don't know how I could have missed all of that,” Harry said charmingly, then turned to look at John in a slightly sceptical way.

 

“Alright, you come here,” Their mother gave Harry a light tap on the arm and held her hand, “Let's go upstairs, Johnny why don't you bring up those groceries, let's see if we can't make something nice for lunch.”

 

 

 

They settled at their mother's kitchen table as she served them some dainty sandwiches and tea. “Tuck in dears, tuck in,” she encouraged sitting down and taking two cubes of sugar for tea. “So, Harriet, how long are you back in London for love?” She asked.

 

“One to two weeks, right?” John answered for her, “It's what you told me.”

 

Harriet made a show of looking chastised, “Actually... it just depends on how a few things pan out.”

 

“What things?” John asked, “What few things pan out, exactly?” He felt his teeth grinding and tried his best not to seem upset in front of his mother. Harry was saved from answering him, though as her phone began to ring. She stood quickly and rushed to tear it out of her bag, a huge grin on her face as she saw the called ID. “Mary!” She mouthed and ran into the other room to answer.

 

“Let me guess... a new girl has enchanted our darling Harriet.” John's mother sighed.

 

 _More like Harriet is enchanting her._ John though. He didn't answer his mother though, instead looking at Harry anxiously through the crack in the door.

 

John's mother looked from John to the door, “John...?” She asked. “You alright dear?”

“Huh? What? Oh. Yeah, yeah I'm fine mum. It's all fine.” John answered quickly tucking into his food and sipping some tea.

 

Harry giggled in the other room. John tried to let it affect him.

 

That same flirtatious giggle distracted him throughout the rest of the day as Harry followed him to work and hung around the clinic with Mary. In an attempt to distract himself John started flipping through his diary marking off new dates and appointments. As he turned the page to next week he noticed the words 'William Scott' written in large black obnoxious letters with the number '74375 625 221'. John frowned, _what the...?_ He flipped the page to find William Scott written in sharpie rendering the writing in blue pen beneath it even more illegible than it was before. John turned the page again. Saturday: William Scott, and the next, William Scott, again, William Scott, William Scott, every bloody saturday for the rest of the fucking year.

 

 

 

During that exact moment Sherlock was walking down the street during his lunch break along side both Molly and Greg, “He'll call me soon enough. You see, I happen to have quite the effect on both men and women.” He was telling them.

 

“Oh yeah, you sure about that?” Greg smirked at Molly while gesturing towards Sherlock with a facial expression that clearly read _'check out his nibs acting all high and mighty'._

 

Molly giggled.

 

 

 

John gaped. The fucking nerve of that guy, was he fucking serious? He turned the page back to the page with William Scott's number and dialled it immediately.

 

 

Sherlock's phone rang. He was smirking before he even confirmed his suspicion. “What did I tell you?” He winked and showed the screen to his friends, “Right on schedule... Hello, you've reached Will Scott.”

 

Greg and Molly gaped.

 

“YOU RIPPED A FUCKING WEEK OUT OF MY DIARY?! Are you insane?” Came John's angry voice over the phone.

 

Sherlock positively vibrated in glee, “Hmm, I've been asked that latter question so many times that sometimes I wonder, but as for your former statement, yes, I did. It's an experiment, you see, I'd like to find out how you bear with your week without every second of your life mapped out. By the way, my dear Doctor Watson I believe it is _your_ life that is insane. What do you do other than work at that clinic and help people marry one another?”

 

Molly and Greg stared at each other. They decided it was best to leave Sherlock alone for this one.

 

“You know what, _Mr. Scott_ , I don't see how _my_ life is any of _your_ business.”

 

“–and how do you afford these weddings on your pay and army pension?” Sherlock continued, “The tuxedoes, the air fare, the wine of the month clubs?”

 

“THAT. IS. NONE. OF. YOUR. BLOODY BUSINESS!”

 

“Wow, Doctor, getting a bit irritated, aren't we? Why don't you take a deep breath through the nose and try to calm down?”

 

“...”

 

"Not good? Sorry. Why don't I make it up to you? Maybe a new date-book. Or perhaps just a date?”

 

“Oh yes, sure let me just write you in, except, oh wait – YOU ALREADY DID, EVERY SATURDAY FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR!”

 

Sherlock laughed to himself on the other side of the phone.

 

“You know what? Can you please, please find someone else to be creepy with?”

 

“Ah Doctor, I'm afraid I'll have to decline, you see I've already set my sights on you, but I'll tell you what we can do; I propose that if at any point in your life, should you feel the need to speak with someone who doesn't need you to accompany them to a fitting or cake tasting or some ridiculous rehearsal dinner, you just give me a ring.”

 

“Yeah, okay that's going to happen...” John hung up the phone, “...in your fucking dreams you annoying twat.”

 

Sherlock didn't hear the second half of that sentence since John had already hung up, but if he had he probably would have still had that manic look of joy plastered on his face. _Oh John Watson, I'll have your full story yet, just you wait._

 

 

 

 

“Hey.” A melancholy looking little boy walked into John's office.

 

“Hey there Archie, how's it going?” John asked, genuinely glad to see the kid, ruffling his hair, “Sorry, you getting too old for that?” He asked.

 

“T's okay” The little boy answered.

 

“Good.” John laughed and handed him a sweet from his drawer. Archie took it greatfully.

 

“Ah there you are Archie!” Mary popped into John's office, smiling at little Archie, followed by Harry. “This is Archie, he's basically my adopted son.” Mary explained.

 

Harry looked shocked for a second but schooled her face into a smile. It was too late, however, as Mary had spotted the slight flicker of fear that flashed in her eyes.

 

“Well, more accurately put he's my godson. He comes over to hang out with me sometimes when his mum's got important business things to do. Keeps me company, don't you Archie?”

 

“Oh.” Harry sighed, clearly relieved to hear that.

 

“Archie, this is John's sister.” Mary introuced them.

 

“Hewo awchie and how awe you doing today wickle man?” Harry cooed and pinched his cheeks.

 

Archie stared at her with instant hatred.

 

“...yeah...er...” Mary flicked an apologetic look in Archie's direction, “Look, John, Harry and I were going to go watch Archie's talent show, if you'd like to join us.”

 

“Oh... I dunno if I can...” John began.

 

Archie glared at John, a look of betrayal starting to form in his face when Mary insisted, “No, come on John we've more than enough doctors in today and your boss is a bitch anyway. Do say yes.”

 

John chuckled, “Alright, fine, I'll meet you downstairs. Just got to get out of my coat.”

 

 

 

John joined the women in the queue of the outdoor concession stand set up to raise funds for the music program of Archie's school. The talent show was to be performed on an outdoor stage that had been arranged to encourage more guests to come see the children's acts. Archie was to have two performances, one on his own on the violin and one playing a duet on the piano with another child. John was eager to get some food in his belly now, rather than later. He didn't want to have to be hungry during Archie's playing, the kid was a natural musician.

 

When they finally got to the front Mary began ordering, “Can I get three bottled waters, three bags of crisps and ...” Mary looked to John,

 

“One of the er, ham sandwiches please,” John chimed in, “You want one Harry? I've got it.” John asked.

 

“Oh no! No!” Harry looked panicked for a second then began laughing nervously as she spoke “Not unless it's a veggie sandwich, with you know, a meatless ... veggies in it.”

 

“Excuse me?” John laughed sarcastically, but Mary's eyes lit up,

 

“You're a vegetarian?” She asked.

 

“Oh yeah.” Harry confirmed, then eyeing the look on John's face amended, “It's recent.”

 

“Is it?” John asked, quite clearly remembering Harry having eaten a pile of bacon that morning.

 

Mary didn't hear the comment and continued, “I'm a vegetarian too! I used to be a vegan but it was a it of a hassle and with my busy schedule... well”

 

“Oh, god yes I know, I mean, even being a vegetarian is a challenge. Every time I do volunteer work I have to struggle to cook myself something meatless before I leave for the day.”

 

“You do volunteer work? Really?” Mary looked impressed. John paid for the food and tried to ignore his embarrassment on Harry's behalf. “No offence meant,” Mary continued, “But you just don't seem like the type of person to take time out of your day for those sort of things, especially in those shoes.”

 

“Order up” The man at the cash said. Mary reached for the water bottles and crisps.

 

“Don't be silly Mary, you must know the best help volunteering to clean up parks is given by petite vegetarian women in kitten heals.” In that instant John hated himself for how absolutely sexist that sounded coming out of his mouth. He needed to calm down.

 

Harry ignored John and turned to Mary, “I can see how you'd believe that, but let me tell you...” She began as she dragged Mary off while John took his sandwich, rolling his eyes. “I actually really enjoy all that helpful lark, you know, feeding the homeless, saving children and building ...new... things. But, to tell you the truth I haven't done much volunteer work since... well since my dog died. John and I had this dog growing up, Humphrey, and I just, I loved him. We would just go out to the animal shelter to do volunteer work and bring him along to play with the other dogs and we went on all sorts of rescue adventures... not a day goes by that I don't miss that bag of fleas” She finished mumbling the last bit and avoiding eye contact with John as they sat in plastic chairs in front of the stage, “... good old Humphrey.”

 

John just stared at her more pointedly.

 

“John why didn't you ever mention Humphrey?” Mary asked around Harry's head as Harry popped a fry into her mouth, doing her best to not look at John.

 

“I don't know...” John mock-mused, “I must have suppressed the memory of _Henry._ ” John gave his sister a meaningful look.

 

Harry blushed and turned to Mary, making up an explanation on the spot, “Yes! His-his name _was_ Henry but _I_ called him Humphrey because I had a lisp!”

 

 _Harry is a terrible liar_ , thought John. “Really, a lisp that adds f's and turns your 'e's into 'u's,” John stated. _Mary is a clever doctor, who do you think you're kidding, child?_

 

But Mary must have had it bad because she smiled at Harry and said, “Oh that's so sweet. You know when I was a child I had a stutter,” She informed.

 

“Really? We have quite a lot in common!” Harry beamed.

 

John rolled his eyes. _Whatever_.

 

Mary smiled and blushed prettily. “Well, I'm going to pop round back and have a look at how Archie's finger work is coming along. He was having a bit of nerves about it this morning.”

 

“Okay, have fun!” Harry shouted, and when Mary was out of earshot she asked, “What is she talking about? What finger work?”

“What are you doing?” John asked.

 

“What?” Harry answered trying to look appalled and innocent all at once.

 

“You hate dogs and tofu doing volunteer work...”

 

“No, I like thrift shops, I donate clothes, I tip well... it's not exactly the same–”

 

“And you hated Henry! You _hated_ him. The only animals you care about are the dead ones with sleeves. You're just saying all this because somehow you think you'll impress mary since she's so... beautiful. Or... at least other people think she is.”

 

“I did not hate that dog,” Harry argued, “I just hated it when he slobbered on me... and I _could_ like soy milk and volunteering, if I tried it... maybe.”

 

John rolled his eyes again.

 

“Psst, Harry why don't you come back here, let's see if we can't make use of those hands!” Mary called.

 

“Oh are you going to check my finger work now?” Harry called back as she jogged towards Mary and disappeared behind the curtain. John had never wanted to shoot himself more in his entire life.

 

And so began John's endless torment...

 

 

 

Tuesday: Flowers, for Watson, Harriet. (“Oh, how sweet!”)

 

Wednesday: Gift basket for Watson, Harriet. (“Love, Mary, awwww!”)

 

Next week: Bouquet and balloons, Watson, Harriet. (“Unf! John isn't she perfect?” John slammed the door in the delivery guy's face.)

 

The week after that: Mary Morstan not taking patients for the past half hour due to phone call with... Watson, H. (John takes all her patients that morning. Accidentally makes a kid cry.)

 

Next month: Photo of Harry on Mary's desktop screen. (John breaks the syringe he's holding as Mary talks on the phone.)

 

The third week of that month: Photograph of Harry and Mary with the london eye in the background on Mary's desktop screen. (John gives up on Mary doing any of her paper work that day.)

 

The week after that: Dinner with mother, Harriet and Mary Morstan. (John had stuffed his face with food the whole night so he wouldn't have to make conversation.)

 

Two nights after that: Harry and Mary making out on the couch when John gets home. They don't notice him leave. (He sleep's on Irene's lie-low that night. Wakes with a terrible back-ache.)

 

Jim's wedding: John wears a bowler hat, a fake moustache, pale make-up, a purple cravat and vest with a black shirt, studded bracelets, an earing and eyeliner – lots of eye-liner. He's actually feeling happy today, seeing the look of pure joy on Sebastian's face as Jim enters. John gives Harry the sign of horns, in an attempt to be funny by sticking out his tongue and smiling. Mary returns the gesture. Harry ruins it by taking Mary's hand, extending the thumb and whispering, “Did you know that in sign language, this means I love you?” causing Mary to whisper the words “I love you too Harry,” back to her before kissing Harry softly. John's face falls and he looks over at Irene over by the side of the isle hopelessly. Irene frowns, follows John's previous eye line and gasps with a disgusted look on her face.

 

 

One month later: John finds another note by William stuck to his lamp at his desk. “Dinner?” It reads. John throws it in the trash.

 

“John, which one sucks less?” Mary asks, at the end of the day, walking into his office and holding up two necklaces.

 

John gets up almost on instinct and makes his way over to Mary. Irene gives “what-the-fuck?” look in the background. No one notices. John reaches Mary, inspecting both. “This one,” he says, pointing at the simple silver chain with the single champagne jewel hanging off it.

 

“Oh brilliant, er, would you mind?” Mary asks, turning round for John to work the clasp round her neck.

 

“Not at all. Do it for the girls all the time.” He answered, referring to Harry and his mother.

 

Mary smiled and dried her palms on her dress.

 

“You alright Mary? You seem a bit nervous.” John commented.

 

“Yeah, no... I'm... good... How do I look?” She asked.

 

“Perfect.”

 

“Good. Thank you,” Mary whispered and left the office.

 

“No problem.” John answered as the shut the door.

 

Irene left after her without a word. John didn't ask.

 

He was still in the clinic, well after everyone had gone home, sorting out some paper work throughout the offices when he notices Mary had left her purse in hers. John frowned at it, looked through her calendar without a thought and rushed off to return it to her.

 

A few minutes later John was walking into an empty Italian restaurant holding Mary's purse when music began to play, and the musicians started to walk out from behind a curtain. Two waiters unravelled a cloth sign with the words “Will you Marry me, Harry?” On them.

 

Mary came out from the back then in the same fancy dress from earlier and held up her hands. “Oh, no, gentlemen, gentlemen, he's not Harry – Harry's ... well she's a girl,” She explained, then turning to John asked, “Hey, John...?”

John was speechless. “I'm... so sorry I just... I should have called but I... You forgot your purse.”

 

“Oh... well thanks...” Mary answered awkwardly.

 

High heeled footsteps announced the arrival of Harry before she spoke “Hi, Mary, so sorry I'm late I-”

 

“Boys, now, now!” Mary gestured at the musicians and waiters. And the whole 'show' started again.

 

John stood uselessly between the two of them.

 

“John, what's going on?” Harry asked.

 

Mary whistled, red beard trotting into the room with a box tied to his neck. Mary took it off and walked over to Harry. Harry gasped in delight.

 

John moved out of the way.

 

“Hey Harry... um, sit down a tic?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Mary kneeled in front of her, holding her hand in one of her own, “So... I've no idea how my parents met because as you know, I'm an orphan, but I like to imagine they were married for many happy years even if I didn't get to be a part of their family. I... I've been waiting my whole life to feel the way I always imagined my parents would feel for each other, and for the most part I know I've been busy making something of myself but, I think I miss someone sometimes and Harry... Harry the moment I saw you I knew that we could be great together. So, um... Harriet Watson...” Mary opened the bos with a beautiful ring in it, “will you do me the honour of becoming my bride?”

 

“Oh Mary! Of course I will!” Harriet practically jumped Mary as she pulled her in for a kiss, one hand of each side of her face.

 

John inspected a very curious chip on a near-by glass.

 


	6. Saying No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets a present from mum, John gets a lecture on saying 'no', Harry does more mean things, secrets are revealed and Sherlock gets to do some fun research for an article. Also cock jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited yet.  
>  **EDIT: originally I'd split this chapter in two, but I found another break in the story so now i've just made it into three separate chapters. Sorry, enjoy!**  
>  ~~Speaking of research, for the record, I don't live in England, in fact I've never even been there, so if I get directions, addresses or slang and shit wrong... let's either help me out by giving me suggestions to make it better or otherwise suspend our disbelief... yeah? I'm half-ass researching shit. lol I spent hours looking for catering companies that would force you to drive out of london and into the boonies of the uk to get to them and that would cater to the place i'm thinking of for harry's wedding but would still be close enough to london for john to drive to it last minute and make it on time, just to give a setting for one of the upcoming scenes. I ended up giving up because I know nothing of the territory. *flips a table* fuck that setting!~~
> 
> Anyway... ahem... enjoy the un-edited half-chapter. There's some adorable... um... it rhymes with "textual mention" ;) 
> 
> But also angst. A little. Smol angst. Baby angst.

Mrs. Watson inspected the beautiful diamond set into the classic silver ring now wrapped snuggly around her daughter's finger as Harry sat next to Mary on the sofa, cuddling. “Oh Harriet, it's absolutely lovely! Perfectly gorgeous!” She exclaimed with red-rimmed eyes, “... wait a minute! Harry, dear? Does that mean that you'll be moving back here to London?” Mrs. Watson looked hopeful and overjoyed at the prospect.

Harry smiled at Mary then turned to her mother, still grinning, “Yes!” She answered.

“Oh!” Mrs. Hudson came forward and wrapped her arms around both Mary and Harriet. “Oh, I don't know what to say to you Mary, darling – first you give John a job he loves and that's given him strength and a will to go on after returning from that horrible war zone and then you- you bring me back my darling Harriet! My sweet baby girl back in London! Oh Mary, darling you're a saint!” Mrs. Watson kissed Mary on the cheek and held both girls tighter.

 

John gave a weak smile from where he was sat on a chair, enjoying his mother's happiness all the while feeling his heart breaking.

 

“It's my pleasure!” Mary beamed as Mrs. Watson stood to wipe the tears from her eyes. “You've a couple of amazing children.”

 

“Give me just a second, I want to get you something, Harry, don't go anywhere!” Their mother flittered out of the living room and went in the direction of her own bedroom.

 

Harry and Mary made eyes at each other as John tried his best to continue smiling while staring at the carpet. He wished the chair he was in would swallow him into a magical vortex in space... or something.

 

Their mother came back with two clear clothes bags and held them both up for Harry to see. “Harriet, I know you've never been too fond of dresses so just in case I brought you both... you can have whichever you like, I'm sure whichever you choose your father would have been delighted to see you in it. And I will be happy with whatever choice you make.”

 

Harry gasped, “Oh! Mother! They're both so perfect! Oh mum... thank you! Really it's an honour!” She stood and wrapped her arms around her mother tight.

 

Mary smiled and turned to look at John who was having a very hard time hiding the surprise on his face as Harry made a grab for the tux instead of the dress. Harry turned to John then, “Oh, Johnny you don't mind do you?” She asked.

 

John gave her a tight lipped smile, but stood and hugged her none-the-less. “No, no, Harry of course I don't mind. I'm sure it'll suit you very well.”

 

“You can have it after me, if you still want it.” Harry said, smiling.

 

“No, no, it's good. Da would have wanted this, I'm sure he'd have loved to see you in it.” John's mouth was working on autopilot at this point as he tried very very hard not to fall apart.

 

Harry hugged John tight as their mother cried tears of pure joy.

 

John let go and kissed Harry's cheek. “You'll look beautiful, I'm sure of it,” He said and letting go made a show of hiding 'manly tears' while going to the bathroom and shutting the door to hide before he broke apart in front of them.

 

He heard Mary and Harry saying their thank you's to Mrs. Watson and sighed as he sat against the door, forcing himself not to shed a tear. He stayed there a moment longer, taking his phone out of his pocket to send a text message, (meet me @ Brook-Rich Pub in 20 mins) if only to distract himself from the agony he was feeling. It was like being shot all over again. The pain in his leg was almost as great as the pain in his heart. When he finally felt put together he exited the bathroom and made his excuses to leave.

 

“I forgot I'm supposed to be meeting a friend – Irene, girls, you know her –” John explained. “I don't want to be late so I'm just going to pop out now.”

 

“Of course dear,” Mrs. Watson hugged John goodbye while Mary and Harry waved at him from the sofa. “We'll see you later John!”

 

“Yup- Bye!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Ah, my dear Doctor Watson...” William greeted John at the pub twenty five minutes later. “So sorry I'm late. I was a bit far from this area. But, now I'm arrived let me ask you, because I'm incredibly curious, why, after so very, _very_ long did you finally concede to meeting me? Normally I'd say it was my devastating good looks but... well, you seem to be immune to those, considering how long you've been saying no... and then suddenly, out of no where... why?” He removed a long dark Belstaff coat and a powder blue scarf from around his neck and placed them behind the chair as he joined John at the bar.

 

“My little sister's getting married.” John sighed into his whiskey.

 

“Ah... and you think the groom-to-be is a twat.” William smiled at John.

 

“No, no, it's not that.” John explained. He sighed, “and anyway Harry's gay.”

 

“Oh. There's always something.” Sherlock frowned, _can't be homophobic since John himself is clearly as gay as I am, at least... if the way he looks at me is any indication..._  “Then... what _are_ you upset about?”

 

“Ugh...” John laid his head on the bar, his hands holding his glass in front of him, “You don't know Harry. She's going to want me to do everything. I'm not just going to be her Best Man, I'm going to be taking care of everything.”

 

“You could say no.” William answered, gesturing for the bar tender and pointing out a drink on the bar menu that looked like it was going to taste sickeningly sweet.

 

“What?” John asked, his head popping back up and looking at William as if the concept of saying no to his sister was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard.

 

“Say no.” William said simply, “You have said no to people before, haven't you John?”

 

“Said no to you.” John took another sip of his drink.

 

“Yet here you are.” William smirked.

 

John frowned. “Yes, of course. Many, many times, when the situation called for it.”

 

William gave him a knowing look. John looked from side to side. “...Never, not once,” he conceded.

 

“But you _want_ to say no.” William stated it like the fact it so clearly was.

 

John sighed, “But Harry's my sister. I _can't_.”

 

Sherlock frowned, not understanding. He said no to Mycroft all the time; whenever he could get away with it in fact, “But... you _can_ say no _because_ it's your sister.” Seeing the frown on John's face deepen, William decided to start over, “Okay, fine, let's run a little experiment shall we? I'm going to help you practice saying no.” John gave William a weak smile that clearly read ' _you've got to be kidding me._ ' “Oh, I'm sorry, Doctor, do I look like I'm joking? Turn, face me. We'll play a game.” William took John's hand in his, feeling its warmth and the callouses in his palm while making a slow circle on John's wrist with his thumb.

 

John blushed a little but turned towards William with a slight look of amusement on his face as he humoured the strange man.

 

“Alright, John,” (William let go of John's hand) he requested casually, “Give me fifty quid.”

 

“No.” John answered, smiling in triumph.

 

“John, it's fifty quid, I'll pay you back.”

 

“No.” It came faster this time, more confident.

 

William stared at John, time to bring out the big guns. He took his hand again, his expression changing to a more imploring look, “John,” his voice went slightly husky, “I need you... to give me fifty quid.”

 

John looked visibly uncomfortable and slightly aroused, “...mmnno?”

 

William stared at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to break. John said nothing and looked to the side. William relaxed his expression then, “Hmm. Not bad.” He stated, game apparently over as he took some chips from John's plate. “Hey may I have your drink?” William asked, already reaching for it.

 

“Sure,” John answered distractedly, then realized his mistake as William drank form his glass, “NO!” He exclaimed.

 

“Mmmm!” William smiled around the glass as he finished downing it, holding up a finger.

 

“Dammit!” John laughed.

 

William chuckled putting the glass down, “Aw John you were doing so well... That's terrible by the way.”

 

John shoved him playfully, “Wimp,” he giggled.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was an absolutely gorgeous day as Harry and John walked through Hyde Park running through the wedding plans and preparations, “So, you went by the flower shop,”

 

“Yup.”

 

“And ordered the favours?”

 

“Uh huh”

 

“What about the invitation mock-ups?

 

“Done.”

 

“This is so much fun!” Harry squealed.

 

John sighed.

 

“Did I tell you I asked Joseph to be one of my bridesmen?” Harry asked, casually.

 

“Who?” John asked

 

“Joseph. Second cousin- twice removed?”

 

“Ugh, Harry...” John complained. “What about Malcolm? Cousin Malcolm?”

 

“Oh no way he's got soooo fat, it'll just throw off the aesthetics.”

 

John frowned.

 

“Look, I'm sorry, I know you don't love Joseph.”

 

“What's to not love about a man who asked me if I'd grown a pair all through my teen years?”

 

“Just don't listen to him. Besides we all know who the bigger man is, between the two of you, if you know what I mean.” Harry winked.

 

“Gross Harriet.”

 

“Oh hush, it's a compliment. Now, as for my brides _maid_ , I'd really like you to ask your friend, you know, that really rude one?”

 

“Irene?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“My Irene?”

 

“Yes, yeah, she's gorgeous, she'll look lovely in the dress. You know, I don't have that many girlfriends other than, you know, my actual girlfriends. For some reason girls just don't like me. I don't know why.”

 

John gave Harry a look.

 

“Okay, I know why.” Harry glared, “Will you just ask her?”

 

John made to argue, but then stopped himself. If there was any way he was going to get through that wedding it was going to be with Irene's help and it'd be easier if she were beside him for that. “Sure,” He sighed, “of course.”

 

Harry beamed, “Oh, I was thinking, you could do a slideshow for us at the rehearsal dinner, you know, put pictures of Mary and I together and say funny things.”

 

“Right, funny...” John sighed and jotted it down. He was doing a lot of that today.

 

Harry didn't notice, “Oh! And guess what? That writer that you obsess about? He wants to do a whole commitments column on us in the Journal. He called me! Can you believe it?”

 

“At this point I'll believe anything...” John said. Of course _the_ Sherlock Holmes contacted his sister. _Of Course._

 

“Oh, you know what else? I've been thinking a lot about what you said and I think you're right.” John stared at Harry as she spoke, “I think it would be so special if I did a wedding just like mum and dad's,”

 

“Just like?” John asked

 

“You know, especially since I'm wearing da's tux so...” Harry pulled out a brochure from her pocket, “Ta-da!” She exclaimed.

 

John read the title on the brochure “St. Audrie's Park?”

 

“Yup! At first when I rang they said they had no availability for _eighteen months_ but then the _ninth_ time I called they said they had a cancellation. Apparently the groom slept with the bride's mother, and sister and all these people so obviously they put a stop to it and they were all devastated but it means... we're getting married in three weeks!” Harry squealed and hugged John.

 

“Three weeks?!” John asked.

 

“Oh Johnny I know you can pull this thing together quickly...” She said, pulling back and looking forward, her eyes sparkling, “and I didn't want to wait that long anyway, so...”

 

John just stood there, his expression blank. _Three weeks? Seriously?_ He was not prepared for this...

 

Noticing his silence Harry turned to him, upset, “Uh... you _could_ be a little excited for me.”

 

“No I am! I am!” John assured her, “It's just that...”

 

“You wanted to get married at St. Audrie's in Father's tux too, I know,” Harry gave John a sympathetic look.

 

“No, it's just... I didn't realize you wanted that, but if it is... it's fine. I just want you to be happy, Harry, you know that.”

 

“Great!” Harry said turning and walking forward again, “Now can we talk about more important things?”

 

“Sure, Harry, whatever you say,” John followed.

 

“I do _not_ like the linens. I think we need to rent new ones because they simply do not go with the colour scheme I picked out....”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“That selfish little weasel!” Irene exclaimed during morning Yoga.

 

People turned to look at them and John apologized for her, giving Irene a look.

 

Irene just kept talking “I can't believe it. I cannot believe it, there is no one out there that won't fall for her little charms, even a goody-two-shoes like Mary, she's become hypnotized by her voodoo and has lost her mind. You can't plan your sister's wedding to the woman you love, it's sick!”

 

“In her defence she didn't know I had feelings for Mary. She's my boss. I'm just going to have to get over it. I don't really have a choice... and neither do you by the way...” Irene looked at John questioningly as they switched from downward facing dog to warrior, “She wants you to be her bridesmaid.”

 

“You have got to be bloody joking!” Irene broke pose to look John in the face.

 

“Please,” John begged, still in pose.

 

“No. No, I won't do it. I say no on principal, count me out.” She stuck her nose in the air petulantly.

 

“Please, Irene I am begging you,” They changed poses again, “please do not abandon me in this hell.”

 

Irene looked at him, _curse those puppy dog eyes!_ “Fine! Fine! Because it's you, but if she crosses me, I'm going to beat her, then I'm going to beat you, and _not_ in the nice way and then I'm going to have a few drinks and th–”

 

The annoyed instructor rang the gong at the front of class, gesturing for Irene to shut-up.

 

Irene glared, “There's no sign that says 'no talking.'” She muttered.

 

John smiled at her, _oh Adler_.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Three weeks?” The French pastry chef asked, repeating the very same sentiment John had just thought yesterday. His eyes practically bulged out of his head, “No. Eet cannot be done! Eet ees not enough time for one of my créations!” He shouted, gesturing at a cake he was currently decorating.

 

“Okay, um... Antoine, remember when I brought you the Sowersby's and they commissioned that six-tiered Diamond shaped masterpiece? And, _of course_ the tower of edible gifts for the Berwick outdoor charity. You can do anything, and we both know it, so you're going to do the cake, and you're going to do it in three weeks and I would like a discount, please.” John commanded in his best Captain's voice. Hadn't done that in a while. It felt even better when the chef smiled warmly at John, answering him with a look of admiration,

 

“Three weeks... it pleases me.”

 

“Brilliant.” John beamed, turning triumphantly to the girls who were both looking at him rather impressed.

 

They were interrupted by loud slow claps coming from the entrance to the kitchen.

 

John turned to look and couldn't help the amused smile on his face as he registered who it was. Standing there in the doorway was none other than William Scott smiling in his long Belstaf coat and blue scarf as he clapped, his eyes completely focused on John.

 

“What are you doing here?” John asked, confused.

 

William turned his glittering eyes reluctantly from John then and directed his sight to Mary and Harry, his expression going a little more professional, “Sherlock Holmes,” He introduced himself, shaking Harry's hand.

 

“What?” John asked as Harry squealed, “Oh Yes! I didn't want to believe it until you were here!” She turned to Mary, “This is Mary, my fiancée,”

 

“Pleasure to meet you Mary.” William ( _Sherlock?!?_ ), answered as Mary's mobile rang.

 

“Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Holmes, I'm so sorry, it's the hospital, I've got to take this,” Mary apologized and opened up her mobile, “Sorry, Hi, yes, what's going on?”

 

John took that opportunity to glare at William or Sherlock or whatever his name was. Sherlock gave him a little pout and turned back to Harry.

 

“Oh, this is John, my older brother,” She introduced, “He's obsessed with your stories,” (John tried to give Harry a subtle ' _no shut up, Harry_!' sort of look but it failed to catch her attention) she kept prattling on, “He keeps them but pretends he doesn't, but he does.”

 

“Yeah okay... Harry...” John said, his face feeling hot as Sherlock turned to look at him with a wide grin on his face.

 

“He's your number one fan!” Harry continued and finally caught a look at John's face as Sherlock's smile faltered while he looked at him. John looked mortified. “–Oh!” She exclaimed, misunderstanding, “Not in a creepy way, though!”

 

Sherlock smiled, “Right, of course not.” he agreed, and beamed at John again.

 

John finally found his voice then, and marched forward, “You said your name was William... as in _William._ ”

 

“It is.” Sherlock stated.

 

At the look of confusion on both John and Harry's faces he explained, “William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I use Sherlock for the by-line as it seems a tad more romantic, also I don't get stalked by the Crazy brides and grooms.” Harry giggled at that, while Sherlock continued, “So how did you meet Mary?”

 

Harry opened her mouth to speak–

 

“You're a dick.” John said.

 

“John!” Harry turned to him, her turn to be mortified.

 

“What? I'm sorry Harry, it's just, he told me his name was William Scott and I'm just, I'm a little bit shocked, is all.”

 

Sherlock did his best to hide a smirk. He was not succeeding. John glared.

 

“Wait...” Harry held up a hand, “You two know each other?” She asked, gesturing between the two of them.

 

“Let's just say we both work the wedding circuit, so...” Sherlock explained.

 

“Oh.” Harry said, looking immediately placated.

 

“I'm sorry, could you just give us a tic, Harry?” John requested, “I'm going to bring him over here, for just a second, talk to him – talk about you.” He took Sherlock by the arm and lead him away as Harry nodded her assent.

 

“You lied to me.” John said, in an accusatory tone when he was satisfied Harry was distracted and out of earshot.

 

“I did not. I told you I was a writer. I didn't tell you what I wrote. As for the name I gave you, _both_ names are technically correct.”

 

“But... but you write the most beautiful things.” John looked so disappointed as he asked, “Do you actually believe in love and marriage and just pretend to be a cynic or are you actually a cynic who knows how to spin romantic crap for saps like me?”

 

Sherlock blinked, “I... didn't follow that at all but I believe the latter is correct, the 'spinning crap' one, as you so elegantly put it.”

 

“Oh my god.” John whispered, looking at the ceiling, “I feel like I just found out my favourite love song was written about a sandwich.”

 

Sherlock gave John a look of confused amusement.

 

Just then Harry interrupted them, “Can I steal you away now, to tell you about Mary and me?”

 

“Of course you can, Ms. Watson, it's why I'm here.” Sherlock answered charmingly as John was left standing there looking crushed. John took a deep breath and went back to talk to Antoine. _I guess this is my life now,_ he thought.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

  

Sherlock walked into the small building following the directions Harriet had given him. He sauntered confidently down the hall as he found the door he was looking for and knocked twice.

 

Inside the flat John was finishing washing up his dishes when he heard it. He quickly put the dish down to go check who was there.

 

“Ugh... What?” He asked, annoyed as he was surprised to see Sherlock standing in front of the door, hands in his pockets with that perpetual smirk plastered on his face, “Harry's not here.”

 

“Oh that's no matter,” Sherlock waved him off, “I'm here to see you.”

 

“...Why?” John asked, suspicious.

 

“I'm to talk to all of the friends and family.” John closed the door.

 

“John, it'll only take a minute, I promise you..." Sherlock whined through the door, "Please?” Sherlock waited. Nothing happened, so he added, “For Mary and Harriet?”

 

John rolled his eyes. _Bastard_.

 

“Thank you.” Sherlock said in his most civil voice when John opened the door. Sherlock waited. John stared at him expectantly. “May I come in?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Couldn't you just ask me what you want to ask me now? Or would you prefer to lie some more?” John gritted out.

 

Sherlock made a face of mock-surprise, doing his best to look offended, “John, you wound me! I did _not_ lie to you, everything I said was the exact truth. Why do you keep accusing me of such horrid things? I may have omitted a few de-”

 

John sighed and moved away from the door, “Could we just get this over with, please?” He asked, sounding exasperated.

 

“The Best Man is a peculiar gentleman,” Sherlock said into a little recording device he held up to his lips as he closed the door behind him, following John into the flat. “So, tell me how you feel about Harry's whirlwind romance?” He asked, leaning against the refrigerator as John went back to washing his dishes.

 

“Couldn't be happier.” John answered quickly, “She's my kid sister. I taught her how to tell time, how to ride a bike, how to catch fish on an early sunday morning... I practically raised her.” John said, before catching himself as he watched Sherlock walk into the living room “Oh, shit! No, don't print that it would... it would kill our mother.”

 

Sherlock made to turn to answer him when something caught his eye. He'd spotted the small hall closet filled to bursting with what looked like... “Wait... what are those...?” He asked suddenly, his eyes lighting up.

 

John tried to look casual. “Nothing.”

 

Sherlock raised a brow and turned back to the closet, taking a step forward and his eyes dancing in glee, “Are those what I think they are?”

 

“No!” John dashed forward to shut the door as Sherlock lunged for them at the same time. They both reached them on time and the men struggled, one trying to close the door and the other attempting to keep it open.

 

“Are they your best man tuxedos?” Sherlock asked, grinning even through his strain.

 

“This is none of your business.” John answered, pulling at the door. Sherlock stepped forward a bit, his face inches from John, and licked his lips. John looked down for a second and in his moment of distraction Sherlock pried the closet door open.

 

“Oh, good god... What? You kept them _all_? You know you could just _rent_ them, right?” Sherlock asked, his voice clearly conveying how astounded he was at the concept of keeping this many horribly cheesy tuxedos. “You have a whole closet's worth, John, why?”

 

“I-” John stammered, “I've a lot of mates, alright, and I like to keep them.”

 

“Right, well that makes perfect sense because they're all...” Sherlock struggled to find a word, “all so charming.” He said, making it clear he didn't mean it at all.

 

John frowned, “Some of them are not that bad!”

 

“Not that bad? I'd like to see one of them that's not that bad.” Sherlock answered.

 

John rolled his eyes. “Fine...Um, well...” He rifled through the closet and took out an olive green jacket that appeared to be made of taffeta, a white shirt, cream paisley patterned sash belt and a pair of tan slacks, “This one, this one is quite...”

 

“Horrible.” Sherlock stated, “What colour is that? Vomit?”

 

“What? No, it's an olive green, it's very stylish. It fits really well, I'm telling you.” John insisted.

 

“Uh, no,” Sherlock took the suit and held it up for John to see, “I'm telling _you_ that this is a ridiculously over-priced piece of torture chosen by a crazy bride who wants you to look ugly in comparison to her husband.”

 

“No,” John argued, taking back the tux “Janine picked it because it looks great on everyone!”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and spoke into his recording device, “He's slightly delusional and will believe anything he's told.”

 

John took Sherlock's hand and guided the device to his own lips, stating, “That is not true, and I'm going to show you, you are wrong.” And he took the tux with him into the bedroom to change.

 

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief and looked at the closet. He took out his mobile and snapped a quick photo while John changed into his (ugly) suit.

 

John emerged from the room in a few minutes wearing the it, “See? It's not so bad, and the belt is really very flattering -” Sherlock's mobile made a snapping sound and a light flashed as he took a photo.

 

He smiled, “Alright, John, I'll concede it fits you quite nicely,” he spoke as he brought the phone over to allow John to have a look, “But, come on, the colour? Please.”

 

John stared at the photo, “Well, it's your flash, it's blowing it up weird...” John tried. Sherlock's brow went up, “Alright, yeah it's... not good.”

 

Sherlock chuckled, “You should be flattered, she didn't want you standing there looking gorgeous while she married another man.”

 

John blushed, “Ha... well... um, it's really not the worst one. If I had to pick one...” He grinned at Sherlock, “Oh, I've a good one!” he said and rushed to the closet excitedly, grabbing a shiny canary yellow monster consisting of a tailcoat and rather tight-looking slacks with a large red bow tie, shiny pink silk vest, a white frilly shirt and accompanied by a white top hat with a yellow ribbon. A white plastic carnation was pinned to the lapel. “It's my favourite.” John informed.

 

Sherlock's face distorted in shear horror, his hand coming up to his mouth “Dear, GOD, John what _is_ that?”

 

John laughed, “Theme wedding.”

 

“What was the theme, humiliation?”

 

John laughed again and went to his room to change into it, bringing with him a large staff and posing while Sherlock took a photo. “God!” Sherlock laughed, “No, people do not have cartoon theme weddings.”

 

“I've been to three.” John stated, grinning as he remembered the Ricoletti wedding, everyone clamouring around in their costumes trying to get sorted in front of the camera while dressed as characters from the animated movie, 'Howl's moving Castle'.

 

Sherlock closed his eyes, not able to believe it. “Alright, what else have you got? Show me some more.” Sherlock demanded, his lips curving up as he flicked his hand out in the direction of the closet.

 

John giggled and moments later came out of his room swaggering in a bright red Zoot-suit complete with suspenders, over-sized shoes, tie, fake cigar and a large feathered fedora. Sherlock burst into laughter. “Okay, next show me this one,” Sherlock said as he pulled out what looked like a traditional men's kimono.

 

“That one is actually really cool, don't laugh!” John said, as he smiled, already taking the outfit from him. Moments later he came out of the room with a wooden sword, posing for another photo. Sherlock snapped it quickly, amused by how much fun John seemed to be having.

 

John recalled the fun he and the men had had playing at warriors for the photo shoot and how beautiful the traditional wedding had turned out to be.

 

“Okay, yes, very neat, I concede, but you must tell me, when will you _ever_ where that again without the situation being terribly offensive?” Sherlock asked, snapping one more photo.

 

John just laughed and went to change. The next outfit he tried on was a velvet navy blue French frock coat with silver brocade, a white shirt and black pants. Sherlock was laughing so hard tears came out of his eyes.

 

“Quite dapper, John, do you feel dapper?” Sherlock asked as John came out in a forest green plaid suit.

 

“Oh incredibly so,” John answered, leaning on a sleek black cane.

 

This was followed by a red plaid suit with a matching kilt. “Very traditional.” John stated a serious expression on his face. Sherlock tried to hold in more giggles.

 

The next took John a little longer, because he was inside laughing hysterically. Sherlock, unable to hold back and his curiosity piqued, made to get up just as John opened the door and walked out dressed in a wine coloured turtle neck dress with a black lace overlay a thick silk belt-ribbon and a flared skirt dropping down to his knees. He wore it in combination with a pair of red flat slippers.

 

“Wha-”

 

“Women wore suits, men wore dresses.” John explained through his hysterics.

 

Sherlock dutifully took the photo while trying very hard not to collapse.

 

In the next one (a 1920's male tailcoat complete with black top hat and monocle), John danced with a cane and did tricks with the hat.

 

After that he came out dancing and twirling a red cape in a traditional matador's outfit. “Olé!” John said through the rose between his teeth. Sherlock fell on the floor holding onto his stomach while attempting to snap several photos. For a second he was worried he'd never be able to breathe again.

 

While John went to change Sherlock went over to the closet to snap more photos and toss around some odd looking frilled suits and cravats. John came out of his room in that moment dressed in a neon-green suit with a purple shirt, but didn't see Sherlock, “Holmes?” He called and Sherlock popped his head out of the closet to see, almost instantly recoiling and half shielding his eyes while he took a picture, “That, is vile.” He stated, then pulling out out a suit with leather pants that seemed a tad tight for John and asked, “What was the theme here?”

 

John smiled in fond memory, “Night club wedding.” He remembered attempting to close the jacket over the sheer black top which left absolutely nothing to he imagination and using anything he could to cover his crotch while the photos were taken. Sherlock almost chocked as he hid his flush of lust when John came out wearing it by pretending to laugh hysterically just so he wouldn't have to look for too long. He made sure he had a good photo first.

 

Next was what looked like a sea-captain outfit, followed by his army uniform (admittedly that one _also_ made Sherlock try not to swallow his tongue), a cow-boy outfit (“Please stop, I'm _dying_ John!”), flippers (“Underwater,” John explained.), and last his three most recent, the Murray 'classic black', the Stamford Achkan and the Moriarty-Moran Punk-Rock Circus of death suit.

 

A few minutes later Sherlock sat on the couch going through the photos in his phone as John returned from the kitchen with a glass of water still wearing half of a garish pink 70's styled suit. “27 suits, John. You've got to be joking. I don't understand. You do the thing, you have the suit – just throw it out, this is a small flat – no offence – but you just _can't_ be wasting flat space like that in London.”

 

“Strange as this may sound to you, Sherlock, I've had a lot of good times in those outfits, odd as that may sound to you.”

 

“I don't believe you.”

 

John gave him an a soft smile and explained, “Look, I don't care if someone wants me to wear a funny outfit. Its their special day, not mine.”

 

“God bless you, John Watson.” Sherlock praised sarcastically as John continued, “... and if supporting them on the most important day of their lives–”

 

“Weeeeelll,”

 

John ignored him, “–means braving a dessert storm or helping to caulk a fountain for some swans, then...”

 

“You actually did that?” Sherlock interrupted. The concept sounded tedious.

 

John let him this time, and gave him a flirtatious smirk, “Oh, I am a really... _good_... caulker,” he said, emphasizing the 'k'.

 

Sherlock gaped a little for a second, then brought his recording device to his lips, all the while staring John down, “Likes cock.” He rumbled into it, his voice feeling a little husky.

 

John giggled. _Are we twelve?_ He thought.

 

“Okay, but John, in all seriousness, how much time do you spend doing all these things for other people? What about yourself? Don't you have needs?”

 

John answered quickly, with a serious expression, “No. I don't. I'm Jesus.”

 

Sherlock chuckled and waited for the serious answer.

 

“Someday,” John breathed, “God knows when, but someday, it'll be my day and then all those people will be there for me, so... that is if I ever find–”

 

A snapping noise and a flash interrupted John's reverie, “Sorry.” Sherlock mumbled.

 

John frowned and his previous joyful expression fell instantly, “You don't get it. Of course you don't, why would you?”

 

Sherlock looked down at his mobile then back up at John, his expression unreadable.

 

“Guess I just forgot who I was talking to.” John stated and an awkward silence fell between them. After a moment John stood. “I should... er... I should clean this up,” he said, silently standing to put his tuxedos away.

 

Sherlock stood as well, “...I... would you like some...? That is... I...”

 

“I'm good Sherlock. You can go if you like.” John mumbled quietly.

 

Sherlock nodded even though John was no longer looking at him and was instead engrossed in the task of picking up a few ties.

 

“Right... Thank you, John... for... for today.” He said softly, and left.


	7. Hydroplaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry lies some more, Sherlock is annoyed by Mycroft, John finds out a secret, Sherlock also finds out a secret, there's a rain storm and there's hilarity and shenanigans spread out across the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha... So originally this and chapter 6 and what will be chapter 8 were going to be one chapter but I realized as I wrote them that no... I had to split them up a bit, so I hope you enjoy this one. I was giggling like a dork when I wrote it so I also hope it makes you laugh.
> 
> Ps. Not edited or beta'd. Will get to it later, most likely.

John knocked on the door of Mary's flat. “Hey, I need your registry list,” He said when Harry finally opened the door with a large grin on her face. She didn't open it all the way though and only peaked out through it asking nervously, “Hi! I, er... thought you were going to wait downstairs?”

 

John frowned as he listened to the sounds coming from the inside of the flat. Someone seemed to be doing the hoovering. Just then he heard the familiar voice of a little boy humming what sounded like Tchaikovsky. John tried to look around Harry's head, his expression now very suspicious. Harry moved to cover his eyesight, nervous grin still plastered on her face. “Harry, what is that? Who's in there?” John asked his sister, “Mary's in Cardiff, Harry, who's in here?”

 

“No one!” Harry smiled, “Let's talk in the hall!”

 

John barged his way into the flat impatiently. He did not have the time nor the patience for Harry's lies today.

 

“John!” Harry exclaimed, her face paling for a second.

 

When John stopped at the end of the hall watching as Archie cleaned the living room Harry spoke quickly, “He was bored and asked me what I thought he should do.”

 

“So you made him clean the flat?” John asked.

 

“I offered him a few pounds.” Harry said, as if that made the situation any better.

 

“What?!” John asked.

 

“Look, just don't tell Mary, alright? It's Archie's and my little secret.” Harry told him sternly.

 

John gaped at her but said nothing. He found he couldn't form the words. _Seriously Harry?_

 

 

_________

 

 

 

 

“Hello Sherlock” came Anthea's monotone voice, “Your brother sent me to ask if you ever got round to writing that groomsman's story. What have you got so far? He wants me to read it.”

 

Sherlock fumed, “Tell _Mycroft_ that his fat head will just have to wait. I've been rather busy, as he very well knows, attempting to solve the mystery and get the scoop on the most recent suicide, since he finally decided to listen to me after I told him for the millionth time that Anderson is an idiot and proved he was getting it all wrong. Besides...” He added, noticeably nervous, “...it's not finished and definitely not up to par with my standards yet.”

 

“Let me see it.” Anthea said, sounding bored.

 

“I just told you it's not–”

 

“Right now, e-mail it.” She demanded, her tone still eerily calm, and she walked away.

 

“It's not bloody finished!” Sherlock shouted after her, “Anthea! An–!” But she was already gone. Sherlock stared at the screen... He'd lied of course, the article was done he just... He didn't know why but he didn't want to send it. He wasn't ready, and he'd still not told John he'd written it in the first place. He wasn't sure John would appreciate the fact he'd written it anyway. What should he do? He'd asked for this. Should he just send it? What was stopping him?

 

 

_________

 

 

 

“Can you go away, please, I did not invite you.” John requested as Sherlock pointed a registry scanner at an expensive ugly-looking ceramic penguin with metal accents, pulling the little trigger making it beep and successfully registering Harry to receive that as a gift at her wedding.

 

“Well, Harry did, and when I cover a wedding, John, I've got to see every aspect.” Sherlock explained as John picked up a very nice looking frame and registered that as a gift. As he moved on to the next object Sherlock commented, “You realize that your sister wants so many presents from so many stores that she physically cannot register for them all herself?”

 

“She's pressed for time. It's a short engagement.” John sounded like he had said this many many times to himself in his own head to justify all he was doing for Harry. He moved to another shelf as he read from the list and found what he was searching for. John took his scanner and registered a couple of pots.

 

“Good god, man, another one?” Sherlock asked.

 

“To you it's just another casserole dish, to Harry it's the pot she's going to cook mum's christmas roast in.” John explained.

 

“Oh, Harry cooks?” Sherlock looked surprised to hear it.

 

John stopped, “...alright, well I'm going to cook it but Harry will be there... with Mary.” John added more quietly as he scanned another vase, “and this isn't just another vase-”

 

“Isn't it?”

 

“ _This is the vase,_ ” John spoke over Sherlock loudly, “that Harry'll take out whenever Mary sends her flowers, just because she felt like it.”

 

“I see,” Sherlock said then added sarcastically, “And this... this is the turkey-shaped umbrella holder that will hold all of Mary's umbrellas!” He smirked at John.

 

John couldn't suppress the smile the silly comment brought to his lips. He sighed, “Fine, be a twat. All I'm saying is that this isn't just rubbish, these are the things that Harry believes make-up a life together.”

 

“No, this is the useless rubbish, that the fifty-billion pound wedding industry has convinced us all that we have to have or we won't be happy.” Sherlock found a gold glittered statue of a pig and registered it.

 

“You know what I think?” John asked, as he removed the glittering pig from the register list using his own scanner, “I think that all of your statistics and theories are just a smoke-screen.”

 

“Really, what for? Pray tell, Doctor Watson. I am so very curious as to your theories.”

 

“Your little secret. Whatever it is.” John answered, registering a chic looking lamp, and started listing off things, “Your parents got divorced-”

 

“Wrong, still happily married. It's annoying.”

 

“You haven't found the right guy...” John continued, (a raised eyebrow from Sherlock.) “You're afraid you never will...”

 

Two eyebrows, “MmmHmm, and I believe you love weddings so much because you'd rather focus on other people's lives than make memories of your own.”

 

“Oh, yes, Sherlock because weddings are the perfect place to forget that you're _single_.”

 

“I think you want a wedding, not a marriage, _a wedding_. Don't confuse them, John.” Sherlock argued, turning around and searching for another ugly useless trinket to put on Harry's list.

 

“What is your problem with weddings? Did you have your own huge fancy wedding only to have your boyfriend leave you for another man?” John asked, anger causing him to raise his voice.

 

Sherlock's back stiffened. “Jackpot,” He said, his voice sounding casual. He schooled his face to fit the sound as he turned and sat on a nearby chair.

 

“What?” John asked, surprised, staring at Sherlock.

 

“With the man who bullied me in college, by the way, so I think you get an extra prize for that.” Sherlock smiled ruefully at John.

 

“Shit... Sherlock... I'm... so sorry it was just a guess.”

 

“There's no such thing as chance, John. It was a nice deduction, on your part, even if it was an unconscious one. Shot in the dark, perhaps, good one, though. For someone who has little insight into himself, you managed to –what's that saying?– 'hit the nail on the head'?”

 

John looked around the shop guiltily, then brought his gaze back to Sherlock, “... You want to find the ugliest things in the store and register Harry for them?” He asked, by way of apology.

 

Sherlock smiled then, looking at the carpet, then raised his eyes back to John's, the smile now a full-blown grin, “Let's do it.”

 

 

____

  

 

 

“See Anthea” The e-mail from Mycroft read. Sherlock rolled his eyes but got up anyway. He was curious with what she had to say. He barged into her office without announcing himself and sat down on a chair in front of her.

 

“Impressive.” She said, her monotone voice making it impossible to tell if she meant it or not.

 

“I told you it wasn't finished.” Sherlock answered, already seething.

 

“No, Sherlock, he likes it.” Anthea explained, looking up from her computer screen. “It's smart, biting, and entertaining. It's running Sunday on the front page of the section.”

 

Sherlock's face blanched.

 

“Normally you'd be ecstatic.” Anthea commented. “A little gratitude wouldn't be remiss.”

 

“I...” Sherlock stuttered, he had no idea why, but suddenly having his article on John run was the last thing he wanted, “I just... It's not up to par. I'm not convinced it's ready yet. I'd ... I'd prefer to get it right. Perhaps you can hold it for a week?”

 

“You practically beg Mycroft for months and now you want to hold it?” Anthea asked.

 

“It's just... now that I've...” Sherlock struggled to find words when he finally settled on, “gotten to know John, I realize that what I initially deduced might have been partially... well not incorrect but rather... there's more to the story than I originally anticipated.”

 

Anthea raised a brow.

 

“If I didn't know you so well, brother dear,” Came Mycroft's voice from behind him, “I'd say we should be expecting a happy announcement by the end of the week.”

 

“Very funny, Mycroft.” Sherlock got up from his chair and crossed his arms, glaring at his brother as he stood at the door leaning on his umbrella.

 

They stared silently at each other for a while, then Sherlock spoke, “Just give me week?” He asked.

 

“Of course.” Mycroft conceded.

 

Sherlock stared, this was suspiciously easy. Mycroft raised a brow, “Back to work, then Sherlock,” He said, ushering him out.

 

 

––––

 

 

 

John arrived at the caterer's a little later than Mary. She was sat at a table alone in the empty restaurant as she waited for him to arrive.

 

“Hi there,” He greeted, taking a seat in front of her when he reached it.

 

“Hi, John,” Mary said, sounding a little tired, “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I really appreciate it.”

 

“It's no problem, besides,” John winked, trying to lighten the mood “I've more experience eating than Harry, so you're in good hands.”

 

Mary smiled as the chef arrived with the plates, “We've planned your wedding dinner to your exact specifications,” He said as he laid the first course in front of them, “Please, enjoy.”

 

 

 

 

About an hour earlier, at his office, Sherlock found himself in a unique predicament. His brother had approved his story but now Sherlock didn't want him to run it. He had this horrible feeling in his chest every time he thought about John reading it before Sherlock had a chance to explain. In a fit of madness he'd decided that what was best was to tell John the truth and he had made a phone call to Harry, hoping she's give him a clue as to where he could find John. Luckily Harry had told him exactly what he'd needed to know without him asking,

 

“... to the caterer's and I won't be able to make it, so I'm sending John with her instead, but please, join them.” She'd said.

 

Sherlock had thanked her and planned to leave right away except his office phone suddenly rang. It was Mycroft. Normally Sherlock wouldn't answer, but right now, he thought it was best to stay on his elder brother's side, lest Mycroft decide to run the story before Sherlock could clarify the situation with John.

 

“Little brother,” Came his voice from the telephone.

 

“Mycroft.”

 

“Seems rather a miracle you picked up.”

 

“Just get on with it Mycroft,” Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, “What do you need?”

 

“Have you gotten anything on the case? The one you begged me to take away from Anderson and give to you?”

 

“No need to be specific, I know which one you're referring to.”

 

“And?”

 

“I'm still tracking. Nothing so far...” and to indulge his brother he asked, “...you?”

 

Mycroft laughed, “I've a vague idea where he'll be next.”

 

“... Are you going to tell me?”

 

Mycroft's smile was audible. “No need, brother mine. You'll find him soon enough.”

 

Mycroft hung up then. Why the _hell_ had he called if he wasn't going to help?! _Stupid Mycroft!_ Sherlock stood and grabbed his things as fast as he could. He had to make it to where John and Mary were before they finished. He _needed_ to talk to John.

 

 

––––

 

 

 

“You know, the thing that I like about Harriet is that there's no –and pardon the word –bullshit. She's not afraid to be herself, and I love that in a woman.”

 

John nodded awkwardly. He couldn't meet Mary's eye for a second. He knew, after all, how much Harry lied to Mary on a daily basis, and with his constant need to protect everyone, John had said nothing because he feared that he'd end up hurting the people he loved. One way or another it had thus far been best for him to stay out of it, keep his mouth shut... but Mary... Mary was in love with Harriet for being _honest_ , and that was... it was wrong. How John felt had really nothing to do with it... Because this was about Harry and Harry _wasn't_ honest as Mary believed her to be. She was a liar. She was his sister, but she was also hurting Mary, a woman who loved her and was about to marry her, and that was not on.

 

“Mary... about Harriet...” John started.

 

“What...?” Mary asked.

 

But John made the mistake of looking into her eyes as he said it, she looked so in love, _fuck_ , “I'm just so happy for you. I'm really, truly glad that you found what you were looking for.”

 

Mary smiled and the table grew silent for a moment. A waiter came over and took away the used plates.

 

“...So” Mary started as they waited for their next course, “What's your favourite part?”

 

John looked up at her, confused, “Of?”

 

“A wedding.” Mary clarified, “What's your favourite part?”

 

“Oh, that's easy.” John smiled, “You know when the music starts and the Bride makes her big entrance and everyone turns to look at her?”

 

Mary nodded.

 

“I usually look at the groom. His face says it all. The pure... _love_ there. That's why I go.”

 

“So, when you get married, you want us to look at the groom?” Mary asked.

 

John laughed, “Why do you assume we're not both the grooms? And who knows... I might marry a woman. I'm bisexual, Mary.”

 

Mary looked pleasantly stunned by that, “Really? Oh John, I'd no clue! I always assumed you were gay, what with your completely platonic friendship with Irene. I just assumed you were, you know,” she whispered, “in the closet.”

 

John spluttered, “Really? Oh wow, well that's awkward. No, no closet. I just... I don't talk about it. It's my business, no one else's.”

 

Mary Hmm'ed and nodded in agreement as she took a sip of wine.

 

“But back to your question... no matter who I marry, I want people to look at my partner.” John's eyes twinkled with a little bit of self-depreciating mischief, “Please make sure that poor sucker is either still standing there, or still making her way towards me.”

 

Mary laughed, “Oh John! Are you kidding me? Any person would be lucky to have you...”

 

 

––––

 

 

Sherlock entered the mostly empty dining area and caught a glimpse of Mary and John sitting at a table together. He was relieved they were still here and immediately started making his way toward them. As he approached he caught the tail end of a conversation,

 

“...lucky to have you,” Mary was saying sweetly, “and that way you attacked that Carpaccio earlier? Very sexy.”

 

John was blushing and laughing while looking at Mary as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. In that moment Sherlock understood everything; Why John had rejected him, why he'd called him, why he'd been so stressed about planning the wedding... and why he never seemed at all happy for his sister. And... by the way John was looking at Mary... he still had hope. _Of course._ John was _bisexual_. How could he have missed it? There was always _something_! He swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat.

 

Sherlock started to walk away as quietly as he could, but just as he turned Mary spotted him. “Holmes?” She called.

 

 _Fuck._ Sherlock turned back around and plastered on his usual look of cocky superiority. He couldn't help see John's face fall as he spotted him. _Ouch_. “Heyyyy.” Sherlock greeted suddenly feeling awkward.

 

“Hey,” Mary responded returning the greeting.

 

John looked at him in confusion, “What are you doing here?” He asked.

 

Sherlock ignored the question and looked down at the food instead, addressing Mary, “Ah, you two are picking out the wedding meal?” Then, because Sherlock Holmes was an _idiot_ he asked, “Where's Harry?”

 

“She's...” John looked at Mary apologetically then flicked his gaze to the table, “Getting her hair done. I'm just helping out.”

 

“Mmm...hmm.” Sherlock couldn't help the expression that crossed his face then, one of complete disbelief, he was sure.

 

“We're actually about to go. Heading down to an antique store pick out some linens,” John added.

 

“And we really should go because Harry and I have a dinner benefit we promised we'd attend – well I promised months ago before Harry and now, well...”

 

“Oh, well, why don't I just go with you and Mary can take my car?” Sherlock asked, looking at John.

 

“What? No.” John was very clearly annoyed. “No, that's okay,” John turned to Mary, “I'm sure we can get you back on time, I've borrowed Irene's car, that thing is very fast, too fast even,”

 

“We could switch. Mary takes Irene's. You can drive mine, if you like. This way Mary can return it to Irene, after all she's a mutual friend, is she not? I can drop you off wherever you like, John. It's really no problem.” Sherlock had no idea why he was insisting but it seemed imperative that he do so, “Besides I've a few more questions I really wanted to ask you, for the article.”

 

“Which I'd be happy to answer, by phone or e-mail.” John answered.

 

Mary looked worried and checked her watch, but she addressed Sherlock, “Look... That... sounds good to me, but... only if John doesn't mind. You don't mind do you John? It's just... I have to pick up Harry and I've still got to get dressed... it'd just ... it'd be easier. And Sherlock works the wedding circuit so I'm sure he'd be better at picking the linens with you..”

 

“Yes, exactly my thoughts, it's why I insisted.” Sherlock nodded at Mary, looking quite satisfied with this solution.

 

John glared, “Fine, fine, yes, that sounds good.” _You win this round, Sherlock Holme_ s. “But I'm driving.” He said, taking the keys as Sherlock offered them.

 

“Yes, of course.” Sherlock answered.

 

 

 

 

Thunder crashed in the night and the heavy rain fell as they drove back towards London on an almost invisible black, wet, and slippery road.

 

“It was like one of those flashes of lightning just ahead, John, the _second_ I saw you mooning at her over polenta, I _knew_! Of _course_ you're upset! You're planning your sister's wedding to the woman you're hopelessly in love with! You've become trapped in an inescapable little love triangle and all the while you are about one more monogram away from blowing your brains out with that service gun you keep!”

 

“That is absolutely ridiculous!” John yelled, angrily pressing harder on the gas pedal. He just wanted this ride to be over. Why couldn't Sherlock just leave well enough alone?

 

Sherlock didn't seem to hear John, or notice his irritation as he continued on his spiel, “Of course you can't tell him because you're _nice_ John, you're _dear sweet_ Doctor Watson.”

 

“You don't know what you're talking about!” John shouted, “She's my boss, she's my sister, they're both gay, and I am thrilled, _tickled_ even, to be planning their wedding with them. Like I have been for every wedding that I've been a part of, but you – you don't understand that because you're – you're a _machine_! And you're dark and cynical, and well, that's you're problem, mate, not mine.”

 

“A machine?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“Oh! That's rich coming from you, _John Watson_! You're so hard-wired to do what society deems right that you don't even notice how much damage it's doing to your own boring little brain. 'I'm John Watson, I hurt no one and help every one who asks even if it's against my desires because that's what I've been programmed to do'!” Sherlock spat, “Yes, I can see now how between the two of us _I_ am the machine here!”

 

“Will you just SHUT-UP?!” John asked, driving faster.

 

“Oh no, I understand perfectly, JOHN WATSON _,_ _you_ are angry with me. I just foiled an _entire_ afternoon of you pining over somebody that you'll never have! Wake up! I did you a _favour,_ John!” Sherlock continued on his rant.

 

“Stop it!” John yelled suddenly and pointed a finger at Sherlock, “Just stop! Stop this! Stop it _now_!”

 

Sherlock was stunned for a second, and looked at the road ahead. Realizing he had no idea where they were he asked John as calmly as he could manage, “... Could you perhaps just slow down a tic so I can read that sign coming up?”

 

In a fit of rage John sped up.

 

“Yes, John _that_ was helpful! Clearly something must be wrong with my robot eyes because I didn't manage to see that as we fucking flew past it!” Sherlock's anger was boiled out of him and he seethed, “In all seriousness, John, do you think you could slow down _just_ a bit?!”

 

John lost it and pulled Sherlock by the shirt with his left hand and, taking his eyes off the road for a second to glare at Sherlock, he warned, “You forget, Sherlock Holmes, that I was a soldier! I _killed_ people! I could snap you in two, you _know_ I could, so go ahead smart-arse, PISS ME OFF, I _DARE_ YOU!” He turned his face back to the road, with Sherlock's face almost touching the steering wheel while John held his shirt tight in his grip as they made a sharp turn.

 

And again, because Sherlock was an _idiot_ , he answered in a calm yet incredibly grating voice, “ _You_ were a _Doctor_.”

 

John turned back to Sherlock, and he huffed out the kind of laugh that only escapes people once they're past the point of anger escaped his lips, “Oh, Holmes, trust me I had _bad days_!” He thundered. Of course, it was then that he suddenly lost control of the car.

 

“John, we are hydroplaning, you must let go of me and regain control of the vehicle!” Sherlock instructed in slight panic.

 

“We are not hydroplaning, I've got everything under control!” John yelled as he attempted to steer the car with only his right hand.

 

“John, I would let go of me now!” Sherlock shouted, panicking more obviously now as the car made a loud screeching noise.

 

“Shit!” John let go of Sherlock, but it was too late, the car was spinning out of control on the road and no matter which way John turned the wheel or how hard he slammed the breaks the car was _not_ going to stop. “Fuck, we're hydroplaning! Shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me!”

 

“Don't think there's time for that right now John!” Sherlock yelled, his body frozen in place as he held onto the the sides of his chair for dear life.

 

“Shut up, Sherlock! Shut-up! We're about to fucking die and you're sitting there making jokes, just shut the fuck u- AAAAHH SHHIIIITTT!!!”

 

Sherlock and John swore in panic as the car slipped off the road and onto the the grass zig-zagging across the wet planes this way and that until it turned full circle and slid backwards until the back of the car hit what must have been a large boulder.

 

John and Sherlock sat there, breathing heavily as the shock of the moment passed and they waited for their adrenaline to simmer down.

 

Sherlock turned towards John, seething,

 

“Don't,” John spoke first, “Say. Anything.”

 

Sherlock subtly rolled his eyes and sat back. John tried pressing on the gas. The wheels spun in the mud but the car didn't budge. It was stuck. They were stuck in the middle of nowhere... in the fucking rain... with each other. John wondered how long it would be before Sherlock pissed him off again and John snapped. If he killed him now and no one was around to hear, was is still murder? Yes, definitely... so, best calm down and try to find a way out.

 

Lightning flashed in the distance and they heard the rumble of more thunder as they sat there, fuming. John made a sudden movement then and reached towards his back pocket for his phone. Sherlock had no idea, of course and assuming John was still mad he grabbed the hand to stop him on instinct. John glared, grabbed the phone and yanked his arm away. Sherlock stared for a second, then turned to do the same.

 

“You got anything?” Sherlock asked quietly, in his least 'irritating' voice.

 

“No.” John answered, huffing out a breath.

 

They stuck their mobiles out of the window.

 

“Still nothing.” John said, before Sherlock could as.

 

“Mm, same here.” He mumbled.

 

They sat back in their seats quietly for a few more minutes.

 

“So,” Sherlock began –

 

“I said Don't!” John shouted suddenly, “Nothing!”

 

Sherlock looked out of the window awkwardly as he waited for John's breathing to calm down before he tried again,

 

“There was a little village a few kilometres back... I could... go back...? Perhaps see if I can get to a telephone?” He offered.

 

John sighed, taking off his seat-belt. “Fine, let's do that then.”

 

“You don't have to come. You could just–”

 

“What? Stay here in a car that isn't working in middle of a lightning storm?”

 

Sherlock said nothing. Instead, he opened the door and got out. He was immediately soaked. _Great, thanks John Watson._ His shoes would be ruined.

 

After walking in silence with nothing but the raging storm around them for about an hour and a half they arrived at a little pub on the edge of the small village soaked to the bone. John found the phone on a wall to the left. He found immediately that it wasn't working. He turned to Sherlock with an expression that clearly read, 'Nope, we're fucked.;

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, _you have_ _ **got**_ _to be joking_. He stormed towards the bar of the little pub and slammed a hand on the counter, “Your telephone is out of order!”

 

“Nice work, you're like one of those detective fellows.” The bar tender deadpanned.

 

 _Oh you're so clever,_ Sherlock raged at the bartender in his head only demonstrating his frustration by raising his eyes to the heavens as if to ask 'why me?' 

 

“Any chance we could maybe use your mobile?” John asked the bartender politely from where he had moved to stand beside Sherlock.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “May I have a scotch, three fingers, no ice, please?” He asked the bartender.

 

“What are you doing?” John asked as Sherlock removed his rain-soaked coat, scarf and suit jacket and placed them behind his chair. His purple shirt clung to his drenched skin tightly and John tried not to look as he moved to sit down and remove his own coat.

 

“Well, it's rather late, we're not getting a tow and we're in a village in the middle of the English country, _I_ , Doctor Watson, am going to have a drink,” Sherlock answered. 

 

John tapped his foot impatiently as he sat.

 

“There's nobody here that you can help, Doctor. You might as well sit still, relax, and have a drink. It's been a long day,” Sherlock said making a grab for his drink as the bar tender set it down saying, “There you are.”

 

John sighed, “Fine,” then, addressing the bartender, “What he's having.” When the bartender turned to pour the scotch John turned to Sherlock, “Just _one_!” He said.

 

Sherlock smiled.

 

 

 

 

A couple of minutes later they were downing their fourth shot of tequila and laughing, their argument in the car long forgotten.

 

“Okay, February 12, 2010,” John said, looking at Sherlock.

 

Sherlock's eyes looked confused as he gave John a look of denial.

 

“The Sholto wedding! You wrote a column that literally brought me to tears. It was downright the loveliest thing I have _ever_ read.”

 

“Well... I don't remember it.”

 

“How can you claim to have an eidetic memory and not remember it? Especially this story?”

 

“I said _nearly_ eidetic. _Nearly_. I delete things that aren't important.”

 

“Delete– Sherlock, how can you not? It was the anniversary of the father's death, the groom had been previously wounded in Afghanistan in a tragic accident involving crows, and the bride stuck by him even through all the death threats – you cannot fake emotion like that!”

 

“Oh, yes you can, a good writer can.” Sherlock said motioning for the bartender to pour them another shot.

 

“Yeah, well, you're not that good.” John answered as the bartender complied.

 

“Oh?” Sherlock asked, giving John his shot.

 

The knocked back their drinks, and John said, “There's got to be something about weddings that you like.”

 

Sherlock smirked, “Open bar... Anonymous sex with closeted groomsmen...”

 

“No.” John said.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, “Fine...” He admitted. John waited in anticipation, “... When the bride walks in and she makes her big superfluous entrance... I like to glance back at the poor bastard waiting at the altar, because even though I believe he's an idiot for willingly entering into a useless commitment during a huge idiotic ritual, they... well they always look incredibly... happy... and for some reason, I...” Sherlock stopped.

 

John was staring at him, his mouth wide open in surprise.

 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong?” He asked, his face flushing in embarrassment.

 

“Are you taking the piss?” John asked, still gaping.

 

“No– What? Why?” Sherlock asked, confused.

 

“That's _my_ favourite part.”

 

It was Sherlock's turn to gap. _That_ was an odd coincidence.

 

“Dear god... we have something in common.” John said, suppressing a smile as he looked back to the bar.

 

Sherlock laughed nervously, “Yes, well... statistically that was bound to happen... eventually.”

 

John nodded in agreement, “Maybe, but I think you should just admit that you're actually really sweet, and that this whole cynical thing is just and act so that you seem 'wounded', and 'mysterious' and 'attractive',” He said, keeping his eyes on the wall of alcohol before him, apparently not having realized what he'd just said.

 

Sherlock grinned then, “I'm sorry, John, what was that last bit?”

 

“What?” he asked, distracted.

 

“Did you say 'attractive'?” Sherlock's eyes shone with mischief.

 

“Er...?” John blushed.

 

“Do you think I'm attractive, John?” Sherlock teased.

 

John hesitated, unable to hold back an embarrassed smile, “No.” He said.

 

“It's okay if you do, John–”

 

“I don't–”

 

“You think I'm _a little_ attractive, don't you?–”

 

“I think _you_ think you're attractive–” John explained as Sherlock pouted saying, at the same time as John spoke, “I'm at least _a little_ attractive–” “– _You_ think so, that's what I meant–”

 

“You think _I_ think I'm attractive?” Sherlock answered, leaning closer.

 

“Yes.”

 

Sherlock laughed and leaned further in–

 

Suddenly the door slammed open and lightning flashed through the window of the bar. A woman came in from the rain, screaming, “She's dead! She's dead! She's out there and she's dead!” The pub went silent. For a second only the music was heard in the background along with the rain. The woman fell to her knees at the door and broke down into tears.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I can write both end and beginning notes! Yusss! 
> 
> Sorry. 
> 
> ps. My favourite part was the one about the robot eyes. XD I nearly died writing that. That whole fight was hilarity.
> 
> Also, that last bit, originally Jane says "sexy" but I couldn't picture Sherlock saying 'sexy' so many times so I wrote "attractive"... I dunno. I still think it's funny.
> 
> Lastly... it was getting awfully hot in that bar... so i thought, I've _got_ to cool it down with some murder. HAHAHA. I'm such a tease ;D  <3
> 
> Those of you who've seen the film know that something involving singing a song while drunk happens but I thought murder would be better for John and Sherlock's bonding experience. Also I've been promising murder from the beginning and we've only had like three background mentions so... it's about fucking time.


	8. Death, sex and Rock and Roll [Part 1]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though not in that order. The title is slightly misleading. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT BETA'D or EDITED. Sorry. 
> 
> Okay so there's a case and it's a little longer than I originally planned... so i dunno how 'mini' my 'mini-case' ended up being... Long enough for me to write a whole chapter and decide to cut it in half again. 7996 between this and what is now Chapter 9, so far. So... I'm sorry guys. I decided I'd cut it in half so that you guys could get to at least read something. I'm honestly 50% making this up as I go along while mostly following a movie script. I felt bad though because work has stopped me from writing and I haven't had a chance to do more. (honestly guys today was insane, holy shit i was so tired.) 
> 
> Also, they were out of character in the first couple of chapters because the whole thing is basically the same lines as in the movie minus the “sherlock-esque” speech patterns, but now about 90% the lines in this chapter are completely mine so they might seem a little out of character of their characteristics so far...? LOL, I dunno. I tried to keep them consistently Jane and Kevin-esque as they have been so far... soooo hopefully I succeeded? I'm being too self-conscious, I think XD I'll stop now. 
> 
> Anyways, Thanks for reading. Sorry this is such a long note XD Should see the one i wrote before.
> 
> ENJOY! (????)

 

Sherlock and John looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Sherlock shrugged and they turned to watch as a young man walked over to the hysterical woman and helped her up. “Wanda, hey, calm down. Talk to me, what happened, who's dead?” He asked.

 

“A woman! That–That strange posh woman that came into town the other day.”

 

“Where is she?” Sherlock interrupted, standing.

 

“Who are you?” The man asked.

 

“Detective William Scott. I work for Scotland Yard.” Sherlock flashed a badge.

 

John stared at Sherlock in shock, _What?_ What the hell was he doing?

 

Sherlock gave him an _'I'll explain later'_ sort of look.

 

The man introduced himself and extended a hand out to Sherlock, “Oh! DI Dimock. Pleasure, sir.”

 

Sherlock nodded and shook his hand, “The woman?” He asked Wanda.

 

“She – She was over by Mrs. Lauriston's garden, just lying there in the rose bushes. I was just getting home from my shift at the Inn when I noticed an odd shape peeking out and, and, Oh! Mr. Scott it was terrifying!” She burst into tears again, clinging to DI Dimock.

 

“Which way to Mrs. Lauriston's?” Sherlock asked the detective.

 

“What? Sh–” Sherlock gave John a look, “– _William_ , should we really be–” John asked, standing now and looking at Sherlock. He was extremely confused. What the hell?

 

“Hush, John!” Sherlock hissed, imploring him with his eyes to remain silent. “DI, Dimock?” Sherlock asked as he noticed the young detective hesitating.

 

“Look, I know this isn't strictly within my jurisdiction, but I'd really like to help.” Sherlock said in a calm and convincing tone, “And with the heavy rain I suspect it'll be difficult for you to do this on your own, please, allow me to assist.”

 

Dimock looked out the window and saw another flash of lightning crack through the sky. “Alright,” He finally conceded, “but here,” He handed Sherlock a pair of keys, “It's for my motorcycle. It's parked 'round back. I'll go with Carter.” Sherlock made a grab for them, and DI Dimock looked at him before he relinquished them, “It's a little ways off from here, farther up the road towards the other said of town, almost facing the country. Do be careful Mr. Scott, I know you've been drinking.”

 

Sherlock gave Dimock a rueful smile, “As have you, and Mr. Carter. Don't worry. We'll be fine. Thank you.” Sherlock took the keys and turned to John, “You coming?”

 

John blinked, confused. Sherlock extended his hand to John, looking hopeful. _Bugger_. John ignored his hand and followed him outside.

 

“Sherlock, a dead body? What the hell?” John asked him as they walked round the side of the little pub to a tiny parking lot.

 

“We've nothing better to do John. Here's your chance to help someone.”

 

“She's already dead!”

 

“Oh come on, John. You know you're curious. Besides... Could be fun.” Sherlock gave him a backwards glance as they approached the bike.

 

“Sherlock, there's a woman lying dead somewhere in the rain.”

 

“Hmm, yes.” Sherlock leaned against the Motorcycle and raised a brow. Even with the rain plastering his hair to his face he looked extremely handsome standing there, waiting for John. He turned around then and extended a long leg over the bike and got up. “Come on, John. Rain's probably getting rid of evidence as we speak, best we get on with it.”

 

John sighed. _God... he looks..._ sexy _on that thing_. “Fine.”

 

Sherlock smirked and the engine of the thing roared to life. Carter and Dimock came out of the pub then. “We'll lead the way!” Dimock yelled as they got into their police car. Sherlock nodded.

 

Once they were off, John yelled at Sherlock over the sound of the rain and motor, “ _DI William Scott?!_ How many aliases do you have?! Who _are_ you?!”

 

Sherlock laughed, amused, but decided he should probably explain, considering how angry John kept getting over everything, “I used to be a sort of PI.” He yelled back as he drove the bike slowly behind Carter's police car through the muddy little village and towards Mrs. Laurinston's, “I worked with the police for a while as a consultant with a friend. Eventually word got out about some unpleasant habits of mine along with a rumour that I was working with my brother to get stories for the paper, which I wasn't. A friend of mine on the force was fired and I was never allowed near a crime scene again. My brother then seduced my friend and hired him at the paper as an investigative journalist, as revenge on the police force, I imagine, and eventually, out of guilt for ruining my friend's career through my relation with Mycroft, I followed. Of course the police forbade my brother from allowing me to do any investigative journalism that put me anywhere near crime scenes so Mycroft stuck me in the style section, because apparently I've a natural gift for it, and he doomed me to write about commitments forever. The badge I have now used to belong to my friend, but he threw it at me the day he was fired in a fit of anger. I've kept it since... Ah, but here we are.” Sherlock stopped his story just as they reached the little house. A small lamppost had been turned on and an old woman inside the house waved at them from the window. Sherlock parked the motorcycle behind Carter's car and got off, gesturing for John to follow.

 

John said nothing. So _that_ was Sherlock Holmes' story. It seemed like the more he talked to him them more complicated the man seemed to get. John wondered where that previous boyfriend fit in all this... but there was no time to ask that now, since _apparently_ Sherlock wanted to play at PI again and John, now already here, had no choice but to follow. He walked behind Sherlock and the two Detectives to the entrance of the old woman's house.

 

“Come in, dears, out of the rain.” The old lady at the door said as she opened the door and ushered the police officers as well as John and Sherlock into her little house.

 

 

“Hullo, Mrs. L.” Dimock smiled at her sweetly, “I assume you know why we're here.” (she nodded; yes.) “This is DI Scott, and I'm assuming this is his partner. They're from Scotland yard. They're sort of stranded it seems, but have decided to help. Can you tell us what you know?”

 

Mrs. Laurinston smiled at Sherlock and John and began to tell them all that she knew, explaining that she had been asleep when her neighbour had woken her by banging on the door screaming. When she'd looked outside there was the body, lying face-down in her rose bushes. She told them she had sent the neighbour to get help because the phones weren't working.

 

“I see, thank you Mrs. Laurinston,” DI Carter had slurred after the old woman finished her story, “Look, Dimock, I'm not sure I'm in the right head for this. I'm going to sit back with Mrs. L, if that's okay with you, besides, you've got Scotland Yard here to help.”

 

 

And so it was that John found himself back out in the rain while Sherlock held an umbrella borrowed from Mrs. Laurinston, walking towards a dead fucking body. They were a few paces away when Sherlock gasped.

 

“What is it, Sherlock?” John asked, worried.

 

“I know her. Well... met her, once, a few months ago.” Sherlock explained as they moved closer

 

“What? How? Who is she?” John asked, suddenly very terrified.

 

“You'll recognize her too John, that woman there is Jennifer Wilson. She was the bride featured for one of my articles in the commitments column called 'A Marvel in Pink.' She was the one who had that horrible cotton-candy wedding. God it was torture.”

 

“ _Sherlock!_ ” John reprimanded. He was stunned that Sherlock spoke ill of a woman who was lying dead at their feet so casually. It was a little unnerving.

 

Sherlock cringed a little at John's tone, “...not good?”

 

“Bit not good, yeah.” John said.

 

Sherlock smirked and looked sideways at John, “Sorry, my _machine brain_ doesn't understand societal boundaries,” he teased.

 

John elbowed Sherlock, smiling at the reference to their earlier squabble, “Bit of advice, then, don't make people giggle at a crime scene. Gives away the fact you're secretly a robot.”

 

Sherlock put his hand on his heart in mock hurt and smirked at John.

 

It was then that Dimock came over with a couple of torches, bringing them back to a serious tone. He handed one of the torches to Sherlock. Sherlock handed the umbrella to John and bent down to inspect the body. Dimock moved to stand next to John, out of the rain.

 

Sherlock took out some latex gloves from his pocket (' _what the_ _ **fuck**_ _Sherlock???'_ ) and put them on, followed by a little magnifying glass which he used to inspect Jenny's face, neck and hands.

 

“Definitely her then?” John asked, hoping that it wasn't, if only so Sherlock wouldn't have the displeasure to be inspecting the body of a woman he'd once known. John really didn't want to believe that the pretty smiling girl in that article, who seemed so happy standing there in her cotton-candy pink dress beside her husband, was now dead. It was so sad.

 

No such luck though, because Sherlock very quickly answered, “Yes.”

 

“You know her?” Dimock asked, crouching down beside Sherlock. John moved to stand over them with the umbrella, if only so they'd get less wet.

 

“Yes, I attended her wedding in London. Mutual friend.” The lie seemed to slip easily from Sherlock's mouth as he continued his examination of the body. John frowned at that but said nothing.

 

“Oh.” Dimock said, looking at Sherlock with a pitying expression.

 

“Quite.” Sherlock stated, inspecting her ring, removing it and putting it back. He looked at the rest of the jewelry closely as well, but didn't remove it. John and Dimock stared at Sherlock in silence. The storm raged on around them, the water continuing to fall heavily over the men and the body.

 

“Pink.” John said, suddenly. He didn't know why he said it aloud. It just sort of slipped from his lips as he stared at her with a solemn expression. This had not been what he'd been expecting to do tonight. He thought for sure he'd have been home right now fuming at Sherlock's stupidity over their previous fight if it weren't for their accident. Life threw some strange curveballs at you.

 

“Hmm?” Sherlock asked distractedly and startled John from his reverie. He said this as he checked Jennifer's coat pockets and inspected her items. White umbrella, pink kitty cat keychain attached to two keys and a little pink plastic container holding a phone charging cable. Sherlock put the umbrella away but kept the keys in his hand.

 

John gave a sad smile, “I dunno... She's just... wearing an awful lot of pink, like on her wedding day,” he finally said.

 

“...Oh... Yes, I suppose she is.” Sherlock said “And?” he added looking up at John.

 

“Huh? Oh. No nothing. It's just sad.” John answered.

 

“Hmm.” Sherlock said, looking back at Jennifer, an odd expression on his face. He opened up the little box, inspecting the cable again.

 

“So?” Dimock finally asked.

 

“Hmm?” Sherlock answered quietly as he stood, flicking the wet strands of his hair away from his face.

 

“Anything?” Dimock clarified, also standing. He hugged his arms around him and moved closer to John to hide in the sanctuary of the umbrella. The poor bloke looked like he was freezing in his thick rain-soaked jumper.

 

Sherlock gave Dimock a rueful smile, and began explaining how most of the evidence had been washed away by the rain. “She has this cable attached to her keys, but no phone. She must have had a phone, though. Why would she carry this cable if she didn't? But now Detective, I must ask, that woman at the pub, Wanda, she referred to Jennifer as _'that strange posh woman that came into town the other day_ ', which leads me to believe that not very many of you interacted with her. This is a small town, so I'm assuming if many of you had, you'd know her well by now. What I'd like to know is if you know anyone in town she was here to see in particular, perhaps they can shine some light on the situation?”

 

Dimock nodded. He began told Sherlock that Jenny's story, then, as far as he knew it. Apparently Jenny had been in town to do some local travel destination features in a newspaper from Cardiff. She was doing some reports on small towns in the English country side and that the only person he'd seen talk to her much was officer Carter, who had often taken her to local landmarks and generally showed her around town. “I remember Carter told me she'd called to schedule a cab before the storm broke... I guess it never arrived. I'm sorry... that's all I know.”

 

“Hmm, no that's definitely plenty.” Sherlock then turned his attention to John, “So, Doctor, what do you think?”

 

“I... What do I...? Huh?” John asked, feeling a little stupid.

 

“Of the body, you're a medical man,” Sherlock said, taking the umbrella with one hand and handing him the torch with the other. He gestured for John to investigate, handing back the keys for John to put them back. He also gave John another pair of latex gloves.

 

 _'I'm not even going to ask why he felt the need to carry so many pairs of latex gloves_ ' John kneeled beside the woman, pulling on the gloves even though he was not sure why he was complying but wanting to be of help all the same. He opened her eyelids to check her eyes for any hemorrhages, checked her breath, neck and hands. Finally he leaned back and said, “Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out chocked on her own vomit. No sign of a struggle. No visible bruising, anyway. She doesn't appear to be bleeding from anywhere either. It could have been a seizure, possibly drugs... no alcohol on her breath...so...”

 

“So?” Sherlock urged.

 

“What? That's it. It's all I've got.” John said, irritated.

 

“John, you know what this is, you've read the papers.” Sherlock told him.

 

John frowned at that, thinking ' _I spend 90% of my time reading the newspaper mooning over your columns in the fucking style section not reading about murder you fucking numbskull.'_ But he knew he'd be reprimanded for blowing Sherlock's cover so John thought for a second... what had he read about deaths and poisoning again...? “The suicides... you think this is one of the serial suicides!” John gasped in horror, _but wait that doesn't make any sense_... John frowned starting, “...But...”

 

“But?” Dimock asked.

 

Sherlock smiled at John then, “Oh very good John, you follow.” _I_ _ **told**_ _you this would be fun_ , he thought.

 

Dimock stared at them, “I don't.”

 

“All the suicides so far have been in London. My... higher ups have had me investigating them for months.” Sherlock said.

 

“So?” Dimock asked.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “ _Do_ keep up inspector, why would a serial killer who's thus far only been working in London now suddenly come all the way out here just to murder Jenny of all people?”

 

“It's a set-up?” John asked. What the _hell_ was he getting into?

 

“Of course it's a set up. Someone is dressing this up to make it look like one of the suicides... the question is, who could possibly know enough about them to be able to disguise them so well? The police haven't released that much information on how it's being done to the general public.”

 

“So you think that whoever murdered her has access to the police records.”

 

Sherlock nodded.

 

Dimock's face paled. “Carter! You think it's Carter?! He's the only one in town who talked to her so much.”

 

Sherlock smiled ruefully, “Oh detective, if only it were so easy.”

 

“You don't think it was him then?” John asked.

 

“John when you and I came into that pub I took a quick but comprehensive look around the crowd. It's a bit instinctual in my line of work. Dimock was not that drunk, clearly having arrived just a few minutes before you and I, but Carter was exceptionally pissed. I think we'll find that if we ask around the pub we'll be told by staff that he'd been there far longer than within our estimated time of death, which I'm assuming, from what you've told me, DI Dimock, was not too long before we arrived in town.”

 

“Amazing.” John said, looking at Sherlock in admiration.

 

“Yes, well, elementary, my dear Watson.” Sherlock replied, giving John a wink.

 

John blushed a little, “So then, who do you think it was?” John asked.

 

“Not enough data. We will need to talk to Carter for more.” Sherlock responded.

 

Dimock frowned, “But you said it wasn't him.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You told me he seemed to spend more time with her than anyone. Just because it's _possible_ that he didn't do it doesn't mean he has no data.”

 

“Oh... Right, well let's get inside and go talk to him then.”

 

“What about Jennifer?” John asked.

 

“I've radioed Fred, works autopsy. They're coming to collect her right now.” Dimock stepped back, “Well, gentlemen, after you.” He said, ushering them towards the little house.

 

Mrs. Laurinston answered the door for them and handed them each a towel. The men dried off as best they could and she ushered them over to the kitchen where there was a medium-sized round wooden table surrounded by six chairs, one of which was currently occupied by DI Carter, who was looking tired and nursing a cup of tea.

 

“So what'd you find?” Carter asked sounding considerably more sober, when the men sat at the table with him.

 

“Not much. Rain washed away a lot of evidence.” Dimock answered.

 

Carter nodded in understanding and looked down at his tea.

 

“We've got a few questions for you Mr. Carter,” Sherlock said then.

 

“Me? Why?” Carter asked, immediately lifting his head to look at Sherlock.

 

“Someone is trying to set this up as one of London's serial suicides.” Sherlock answered, “but we all know that's unlikely to be the case. The more likely scenario is that someone who knows about the investigation is trying to make it look like one in order to cover their tracks, or, more likely still, to implicate you.”

 

John said nothing, but watched in silent appreciation as Sherlock spoke. He was... _wow_... it was just... so _odd_ seeing him in his element, but also just a little incredible. This man contrasted so much with the man who had been all smiles and smirks with him in the pub, but it was still the same person. It was _mind-blowing_. And he had to be honest, just a bit exciting.

 

“But why would someone want to implic–” Carter was saying when Sherlock interrupted him,

 

“Do you have any enemies Mr. Carter?”

 

Carter hesitated. “This is a small village, Mr. Scott. Not very many people around in the first place, you either you get along or you live a life of awkward encounters.”

 

“But still, there's someone.” Sherlock stated. How Sherlock could tell was beyond John.

 

Carter put his hands in his hair and stared down at his tea. Mrs. Laurinston brought some over for the rest of the men then, and a cup for herself as she sat quietly and listened. Carter said nothing for a while. Just sat there.

 

Finally, he lifted his gaze to Sherlock's, eyes rimmed in red, “...I don't... She wouldn't.”

 

“Your wife?” Sherlock asks gently.

 

“She would never...” Carter repeated.

 

“And yet you suspect her?” Sherlock prodded.

 

“No!... It's just... you asked if I had enemies and... well we've had a huge fight and I've been staying at Dimock's for a while, the whole village knows about it... But I don't think she did it! She would never! Why would she?”

 

“Why indeed?” Sherlock said, more to himself than anyone in particular.

 

“We'll just have to go have a talk with her, I suppose.” Dimock said, “And we should check Jenny's room. See if she left anything.”

 

“Mmm, agreed, we need more evidence. Dimock, I suggest you take a closer look at the body with those who are doing the autopsy when they arrive. John and I will go back to the pub on your motorcycle and ask around. Normally I'd ask you to come because people might be more apt to open up to someone they know but considering the size of town and your connections with each other I think it best if an impartial person asks the questions. We'll take a radio with us so we can communicate. Neither my nor John's mobile's are in working order and I'm guessing it's the same for you. You can radio us anything you find.”

 

Dimock nodded, “That sounds like a good plan. Come on Carter, let's get down go see if Fred's here yet.”

 

“Actually, Dimock, I... I think I'm too close to the case. I knew the girl while she was here. Not well, mind you but... it's... it's too sad to see her like that. I don't think I'd be impartial, and now... with Deb implicated.”

 

“You're right Carter. Here are the keys. You can take the car. Drive safe. I'll ride out with Fred when he gets here. And here're the keys to the house– just let yourself in.”

 

Carter smiled weakly and left, “Thanks.”

 

Dimock went out with him to wait in the car while fred arrived and to grab a police radio for John and Sherlock.

 

“So sad...” Mrs. Laurinston remarked, “Such a young girl,” As Sherlock and John made to get up from their seats.

 

Sherlock sat back down, though, and John followed. Sherlock asked then, “Did you know her even a little bit?”

 

“Well, not really,” the old woman began, “I don't usually go that far into town because of my ailing hip and back. My son, he brings me my shopping and all that. Sometimes Mrs. Carter does as well, with her older brother, whenever he's in town. She's a nice girl, that Mrs. Carter... and I think Mr. Carter is right. She wouldn't do a thing like that. I've never seen her hurt so much as a fly. My son did tell me, though that he'd heard a rumour at the pub that the real reason Miss Wilson was here was because she'd had a domestic with her boyfriend. We suspect she was really just looking for a place to stay while she forgot about him, but I can't really say for sure.”

 

“Hmm. Interesting.” Sherlock said, “Thank you Mrs. Laurinston you've been a great help.” He stated, giving her a charming smile and finally standing. John got up too.

 

“Oh it's not a problem dear, none at all.” She stood too and got them their coats. “I hope you find them, whoever did that. Dreadful business,” She said.

 

“Mmm, thank you.” Sherlock and John took their coats and dashed out towards the bike to head back to the pub. Dimock had left the radio in the Motorcycle's carrying compartment.

 

“Well _that_ was interesting.” John said as they climbed onto the bike in the raging storm again.

 

“Told you it would be fun.” Sherlock smirked, climbing on in front of him.

 

“This isn't fun Sherlock, it's morbid and creepy and...” But John knew even as he said it that he didn't really mean it. He hadn't had this much excitement since Afghanistan. The closest he'd gotten was running back and forth between two weddings a couple of months ago.

 

Never the less Sherlock seemed disappointed to hear John's discomfort, “Would you like to book a room at the inn? Stay indoors and maybe go to sleep while I figure this out?” He asked, as he started the bike's engine.

 

John hesitated as they started moving, “Look Sherlock,” He yelled a bit in order to be heard as the man drove them back towards the pub, “I-I don't think I could sleep tonight after seeing Jennifer Wilson like that, especially knowing she stayed in a room at that same inn. I'm just a bit confused is all. Why are we doing this? What's the point?”

 

Sherlock was quiet for a moment as he kept driving. At first John wasn't sure he'd heard him, but then Sherlock finally yelled back, “She was so happy on her wedding day, John. Not a single word I said in that article was wrong. It had all been so perfect... I admit at first I didn't know it was her, and that I'd be doing this were it Jennifer Wilson or not, but now I know it's her I simply must find out what happened... John I... this is what I did, before... before everything. It's what I _liked_ to do. You like to help people while they put their lives together... I... enjoy solving the puzzles they leave when there's no way you can ask them for a clue. Sometimes, if I'm lucky there's also a sort of justice for them once I've solved it. Admittedly what I always cared for more, was always the game, but... the results, if I'm successful, I find I... well. It's good if things end well.”

 

John stared at the back of Sherlock's head for a moment through the rain. He was finding out quite a lot about him all in one night. John leaned his body closer to Sherlock, pressing his face onto his back. He felt Sherlock stiffen for a second then relax as John's arms held him tighter for a second.

 

“My, my Doctor Watson, that's a bit forward isn't it?” Sherlock laughed.

 

John frowned and pulled back, “See if I ever try to comfort _you_ again. Twat!”

 

Sherlock chuckled.

 

“So what's your theory then?” John asked as they got closer to the pub.

 

Sherlock thought for a moment. “I don't think it was the wife,” he said, “But it's clear that Jennifer Wilson and Carter were having an affair. Carter might have an alibi if Time of Death doesn't add up, but that doesn't necessarily mean it wasn't him. I need a bit more information though. This isn't making any sense.”

 

“How d'you know they were having an affair?” John asked as they got off the bike in front of the pub.

 

“Obvious.” Sherlock said as he put down the kick-stand and slicked his hair back out of his face.

 

“It's not obvious to me.” John said.

 

Sherlock smiled at him, “Even with the rain I could tell that she has her jewelry regularly cleaned. Her wedding ring, however wasn't as shiny as the rest. It's a bit dirtier than the rest, suggesting she touches it often, when I removed it I noticed that the inside of the ring was clean, though. Therefore the only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. Regularly removed, then, logical assumption, affair. And as for Carter, well, so far Dimock tells us he's the only one she really spent much time with. He was quick to blame his wife. He has something to feel guilty of doing to his wife which might lead her to exact revenge. Then there's Mrs. Laurinston, who told us Jennifer Wilson had had a fight with her boyfriend, _not_ husband, _boyfriend_. So, affair, unhappy, with Carter. But now there's her Mobile... or lack thereof. There's a cable for charging on but no phone? She had a lover but she doesn't have her phone on her? Why? There's a chance she's left it in her room, but then, there's a chance she didn't and the killer has it. But with the phone lines down, we've no way of calling it to see.” he finished.

 

“Wow.” John said.

 

“What?” Sherlock asked feeling himself flush a bit at the expression on John's face.

 

“That's...” And John was really loath to admit this aloud but he had to say it: “it's really impressive Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock smiled, “You think so?”

 

“Yes, of course I think so.” John said, “It was extraordinary, it was _quite_ extraordinary.”

 

“Hmm.” Sherlock said quietly, looking at the door to the pub.

 

“What?” John asked, and made his way over to open it. He gestured for Sherlock to walk in.

 

“It's... not what people normally say.” Sherlock said as he walked through.

 

“What do they normally say...?” John asks as they get inside.

 

Sherlock hesitated, “... freak.” He said, speaking softly, then, more cheerily “But come on, John! We've a murder to solve.”

 

The bartender seemed to hear that and looked up at them, “Did you say murder?” he asked, his eyes practically bulging out of his face.

 

Sherlock grinned, “Yes exciting isn't it? Quaint little town, rain-storm, mystery foreign woman in your town, a secret affair, murder, and then two mysterious, but extremely handsome detectives from the Yard show up in your village and begin an investigation. It's all very film noir.”

 

John rolled his eyes. And there was the Sherlock he'd gotten to know _._

 

“She was murdered?” The bartender asked again. “You're sure? You're _sure_ someone killed her?”

 

“Yyyyup.”

 

“That's awful,” A woman to the left chimed in.

 

“Do you know who did it?” The man next to her asked.

 

“Now, now everyone, we all just need to take a deep breath and calm down.” Sherlock said, loudly and theatrically, moving his hands in a placating gesture to emphasize what he was saying. What was he doing? The whole bar could hear him!

 

“What's going on?” Some one else asked. “This about that woman?”

 

“That girl from Cardiff? The one in the pink?” Another voice shot out.

 

And another, “What? What happened?”

 

Everyone started talking at once then, their energy immediately changed from the previous somewhat joyous buzzing to a sort of panicked grumbling.

 

John wondered why Sherlock was trying to scare everyone, but said nothing.

 

Sherlock smiled at everyone and, having successfully garnered the entire bar's attention, he addressed them all loudly, spreading his his arms out to his sides in an friendly manner telling them, “As I said, there's no need to panic. Everything is under control. The police are handling it, please everyone, just go back to your evening, everything will be okay.”

 

The people were quiet, all of them staring at Sherlock.

 

“Good–” He started, but was interrupted by a drunk-looking fellow with a long black beard,

 

“Who'r you then?” The man asked.

 

Sherlock's eye twitched just a bit but his reassuring smile didn't falter, “I am detective William Scott, this is my partner John Watson. We work for Scotland Yard.” Sherlock bowed. _He bowed_ , as if this were all a _show_ , “Now, as I said, everything is going to be fine, there's no need to be alarmed, I'm just going to have a look upstairs. I must also, however, going to let you all know that my partner and I will be making some rounds around the pub and would appreciate it if everyone stayed until you've all been questioned. You are not legally being held here, of course so you may leave if you wish, but if any of you have any information on Ms. Wilson I'd really appreciate you staying for just a bit, and in exchange I promise to answer any concerns you might have.” Sherlock gave them all a charming smile.

 

 

And that's how John found himself running around the pub interviewing people and writing notes for Sherlock Holmes as the people in the pub got progressively more and more pissed. Sherlock had gone upstairs to search for clues as John made most of the rounds doing interviews. John had spotted him come back a few minutes ago though, and saw him interviewing a man by the bar. The man didn't really seem too forthcoming. There was something about him that was vaguely familiar. John frowned. How had this day gone from planning Harry's wedding to illegally crime-solving with Sherlock Holmes, the bloody commitments columnist? He was starting to feel very paranoid.

 

About an hour later Sherlock found John while he spoke to a surly man named Berry Berwick who seemed to know and care very little about what had happened tonight. Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's back, his eyes twinkling, “I believe we're finished with the interviews, Doctor Watson,” He said, “Why don't we leave poor Mr. Berwick here alone to finish his drink and go have one ourselves, now our job's done.”

 

“...oh...uhh, sure, yeah,” John answered, and then to Mr. Berwick, “Thank you for your... erm time.”

 

Berwick nodded and went back to playing pool with his friends.

 

“So, anything?” John asked.

 

“Mmm, I'll explain later, but for now, keep your eyes on the door.” Sherlock said, as he walked John over to the little bar with a hand on the small of his back. John ignored the weird butterflies he got in his belly at the contact. “Order something.” He whispered as they approached, grinning to hide his speech.

 

“I'll have another Scotch.” Sherlock asked the bartender.

 

“Should you, er... really be drinking this much on the job, mate?” The bartender asked

 

“Technically this isn't my territory, so technically I shouldn't even be working this case,” Sherlock winked, “I just like to help. Besides, your DI Dimock only sent me here to have a look upstairs and do some interviews, which we've already done. We wrote notes for him, see?” Sherlock smiled, dangling the notebook as he took a seat at the bar, “Three fingers,” He said.

 

“Er... one for me too.” John said, nervously as he took a seat beside Sherlock.

 

When the bartender turned to get their drinks Sherlock crowded in a little closer to John and whispered, his lips breathing into the shell of John's ear, “John, I'm going to give people the impression that I'm terribly drunk, I've been taking drinks from the bar throughout the night to help me with the charade– what I need you to do is to keep an eye on the door in the meantime, but you must also pretend to drink. Perhaps order something stronger after the scotch and take the occasional sip. If you notice someone leaving signal me. I'll let you know if we should worry about them or not. Try to look relaxed. Now, do you still have your gun?”

 

John frowned, whispering back, “We're not going to need it, are we?”

 

“Do you have it or not, John?!” Sherlock hissed.

 

“Well, yes of course I do, I wasn't going to leave it in your car, was I?”

 

“Good,” he said, then pulled away and added, still quietly, “Someday, I'd like to hear the story of why you even had it in the first place.”

 

In a moment of boldness John winked, “Well, you never know when some 'attractive' journalist is going to coerce you into helping him solve a crime.”

 

“I _knew_ you thought I was attractive.” Sherlock smirked, saying it a little loudly as the bartender brought them their drinks.

 

“In your dreams, _'Scott'_.” John returned, playing along.

 

Sherlock smiled at him then suddenly climbed up on the bar and stood, swaying in a manner that made him seem convincingly pissed.

 

“As you all know,” Sherlock announced, “My partner Wohn Jatson – sorry no... that's wrong... Wat Johnson– no, no! _–_ John! _John, What's-his-face,_ ” Sherlock giggled and started over, “My partner _John_ and I finished interviewing you all. And we wrote notes here in our little... little do-hickey.” (he wiggled the notebook in his hands) “And we're done now. We are finished. Fiiiiinito. And I, the great and handsome DI William Scott, do hereby release you from your duty to the law! Thank you, thank you very much,” Sherlock did an odd Elvis impression that made a few people giggle and then he bowed flamboyantly. “Now, if we could all just cheer up a bit and forget about this dreadful murder business, that would be good. The night is young! Let us toast! To life! To love! And to sweet delicious Alcohol to rid us of our sorrows!”

 

The people in the pub laughed at Sherlock's antics and the room visibly relaxed as they raised their glasses alongside Sherlock, all saying, “To Alcohol!”

 

Sherlock laughed and bowed again. He then pretended to struggle as sat down on the bar, swinging his feet like a child. “Next round is on me!” He shouted and laughed again, tipping slightly and steading himself on John. Everyone around the room cheered and went back to their peaceful drinking, the concerns over Jennifer Wilson seemingly forgotten.

 

“That have the desired effect, then?” John asked subtly as Sherlock sat there, seemingly contentedly having a drink.

 

“Hmm, yes, they're all pretty relaxed now. Keep drinking. I've an idea.” Sherlock jumped off the bar clumsily and stumbled over to a jukebox which had been steadily playing music the whole night.

 

John watched him, maintaining the door in the corner of his eye in case anyone left so he could warn Sherlock.

 

Sherlock clapped, saying, “Yes! There we go, now we've got something to dance to!” as an upbeat mix of David Bowie's 'Let's Dance' started to play. John laughed along with a few others in the pub as Sherlock began to dance to the music gracelessly. A couple of minutes in two girls got up and joined him. The three of them began to sing along with the lyrics, laughing. Sherlock beckoned John to join them. He shook his head to decline and held up his glass as an excuse. Sherlock simply shrugged and continued to dance with the girls. They _really_ seemed to be enjoying his presence. John rolled his eyes. _What a flirt_. Soon, an older couple joined them on the dance floor too, and then a few more people. Pretty quickly half the bar was up and dancing and singing along with Sherlock.

 

“Was that really necessary?” John asked, laughing as Sherlock came back to the bar, “What about Jennifer?” John hissed.

 

“They were all still too stiff. Had to give the suspect a chance to 'escape.'” Sherlock said then.

 

“Wait, suspect? You have a suspect?”

 

“ _Of course_ I have a suspect. What do you think all this is _for,_ John?”

 

“And they're in here?”

 

“Yyyup.”

 

“Why didn't you tell me?”

 

“Didn't want to alarm you.”

 

“But you're alarming me _now_?”

 

“Yes. I need you alert. You were in the army, I'm assuming you work well under this sort of pressure.”

 

“First, I was _already_ alert. I was the minute you told me to help you do this. And even more so when you told me to watch the door. Second, the key word here is _'were'_ , Sherlock. I've been doing nothing but working in a bloody clinic and planning weddings for almost a year now.”

 

“Hmmm I wonder what happened to ' _I was a soldier, Sherlock I_ _ **killed**_ _people._ '”

 

“As you said earlier, Holmes, 'the night is young'; there's time for that yet.”

 

Sherlock beamed manically, “ _There's_ the John Watson I'm looking for. Now, come dance.”

“What?”

 

“Dance. You're my partner, you look far too conspicuous just sitting there nursing that beer and watching the exit like a hawk, our killer is highly suspicious of you, now come dance.”

 

“You _told_ me to watch the exit. And how –”

 

“I said ' _inconspicuously_.'”

 

“You didn't”

 

“It was _implied._ ”

 

“Ugh... fine.” And so John took Sherlock's hand as another song (Elton John's Benny and the Jets) came on, joined him on the dance floor and sang along with the rest of the pub. Sherlock was stolen by one of the young ladies from earlier almost immediately after returning to it and Sherlock laughed as John watched her drag him away. John continued dancing as per Sherlock's instructions and soon found partners of his own as they all danced song after song. It had gotten quite lively in here.

 

It was a few moments before John realized, as he walked over to the bar to grab another beer, that he couldn't spot Sherlock anywhere. As he approached the bar he noticed one of the stools, the one which previously had Sherlock's Belstaff wrapped around it, was tipped over, the coat and scarf gone. He found the keys to the motorcycle on the ground next to them. John grabbed them, and in a panic did another scan of the room. Nope, no Sherlock. _Shit._ He grabbed his coat. _Sherlock Bloody_ _Holmes._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **one:** Mrs. Laurinston's Gardens. Eh?? Anyone? Anyone? I'm so funny. No I know I'm not shhh. I think there are other easter eggs from the sherlock but i don't remember them. I didn't proof read this XD  
>  OH! The benny and the jets. that's the 27 dresses easter egg! It made a cameo just now at the end. LOL. I had to! *~ B-b-b-benny and the jets. BENNY! **BENNY!** Sorry.
> 
>  **Two: Confession time:** i've never ever written a case before in my life so uh... I hope it makes sense so far..???? Also I wrote like five different versions before I was satisfied so... oops and since I didn't really proofread you might find some sentences or useless clues I forgot to omit. And Uh... I'm sorry if you would have preferred Benny and the Jets drunk dancing to the uh... case??? I did write a version with the benny and the jets dance and no case, but it's literally one paragraph describing that they're drunk and singing but then it just gets to ... well... things. #nospoilers lol but if you've watched 27 dresses then you know what happens. :S Mine's better though. no probably not. the only thing that makes it better is the johnlock :P  
>  There's also a version of sexy dancing after the bowie song. But I was like, “no boys, we're in the middle of a case so... no!” and they were all “But B! We want to be sexy with each other!” and i was all, “No, boys, focus dammit!" so... no sexy dancing. it was getting too disruptive. no. I can add it later if you guys want though. I dunno. ask me. I might. I didn't like it. It wasn't really funny. And I like the funny shenanigans more. Anyways thanks for sticking with me through this horrid thing.
> 
> Thanks again!  
> ILU <3  
> -B
> 
> ps. I like the part where Sherlock says Wohn Jatson. The silly egg.


	9. death Sex and rock and roll [part 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, not particularly in that order. ;)  
> But yes, the title pretty much says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd or edited. I didn't even proof read it. Sooooo... apologies. :P 
> 
> Also it gets a little heated after a point and for those of you who don't particularly go in for that sort of thing, I understand so I've made this easier for you with a warning. If you would prefer not to read it, you might want to stop reading after the little asterisks (****) I've placed there for you. I promise you you won't be missing out on anything other than the stuff you don't want to read.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -B

 

 

 

Sherlock had spotted his suspect leave a few minutes after he and John had gotten mixed up in the dance floor together. _Perfect_. No time to warn John, and it'd probably be safest for him if Sherlock left him behind anyway. He grabbed his coat and scarf at the bar and followed the suspect out through the exit. As he walked out, he noticed a london cab waiting, parked just in front. _Gotcha._

 

 

“Get in the cab, Detective _Scott_.” Sherlock heard the click of a gun from behind him.

 

Of course Sherlock, being Sherlock had the nerve to roll his eyes, sighing, “A gun? Really? How drôle...”

 

“ _Now!_ ”

 

“Fine,” Sherlock breathed, with no small amount of insolence in his tone, “Let's get a move on, then.” And he entered the cab's back seat as the cabby got into the driver's side, driving them out into the country side, back where Sherlock and John had come from.

 

As they made their way up the road, Sherlock tried to think of a way out of this. He only hoped that by the time John noticed Sherlock was missing it would be too late, and if he did notice early, then sherlock hoped he wouldn't do anything stupid. He doubted he would, with the way he seemed to dislike Sherlock, even if he _did_ find him physically attractive, no matter what he claimed. In any case Sherlock had to find a way to distract the cabby, and get out of this fast or at least get what he wanted out of him without an unpleasant outcome on Sherlock's end.

  
“You knew I recognized you.” Sherlock said casually, after a while.

 

“I didn't at first. It was the act gave you away. I know a drunk man when I see one. And I know you... Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“Ah... You remember me.”  
  
  


“I remember _him_.”

 

“John?”

 

“I spent a night bringing him back and forth between two weddings, _of course,_ I remember him. Not a night you forget too easy. When I remembered him I remembered you. I knew it couldn't be a coincidence. You in my cab that night and you here today. You were just as arrogant then. And equally as theatrical.”

 

“My brother always says there are no coincidences,” Sherlock replied, “I disagree. That first night I met you I didn't suspect you at all. It was John I was interested in.”

 

“Oh? Then how'd you find out? What gave me away?”

 

“Telling would be too easy,” Sherlock said cheekily. He grinned at the rear view mirror. It was true. Sherlock hadn't thought anything odd about the man when he'd seen him. He would have forgotten him it it weren't for the memory of the awkward ride back to the Journal. The cabby had been annoyed with Sherlock for the way he'd teased John Watson. It had been obvious. He'd been mostly amused by the annoyance he'd sensed in the other man that night.

 

“Ah, now I understand, the infamous Holmes games.”

 

“Infamous?”

 

“Don't pretend like nobody knows. You never stopped your little crime-fighting adventures did you Mr. Holmes? They still talk about you, you know, in the underworld.”

 

Sherlock huffed, “'The underworld', really? How dreadfully poetic.”

 

“Oh I know you're not one for poetry, Mr. Holmes. 'Believing in marriage is like believing in father Christmas', that's what you said, wasn't it?”

 

So that was it. _That's why you did it! And that's why you didn't kill John that night because of– oh how embarrassing this would be for him, he'd lost already. Game over, Sherlock 1, Killer Cabby 0_.

 

“Yes, that sounds like something I'd say.” Sherlock leaned forward and grumbled, “My question is... if you knew I felt that way, why didn't you just destroy me then, that night?”

 

“Because he didn't know what you wrote, but _I_ did.”

 

Sherlock was actually stunned then, “You knew I was Sherlock Holmes? How?” How could he possibly have known that then?

 

“As I said. They still talk about you. You've a very unusual look, for a crime-fighter, almost like you're daring for retaliation. The arrogance. But tonight your hubris will destroy you. It's no secret you daylight as a love journalist and moonlight as a vigilante detective. I even read some of your articles. I know who to avoid if I don't want to arouse suspicion. But you got in the car with him. Saw him home safely, despite your grumbling. And when he left and you gave me the address, the London Journal, I knew for sure it was you. True I could have ended this then, but I had no reason to. In fact, in all honesty I still don't really want to do this. See I know, even if you won't admit it now, that you do believe in the same thing I do. I know it because I saw the way you looked as I drove you home after meeting him that night. The way you looked at him this very night confirms it. But... You leave me no choice, Mr. Holmes. I didn't want to do this to either of you.”

 

“Oh boo, what did I do to make you think that way?” Sherlock mocked.

 

“You got too close, Mr. Holmes. I've a code, you know, and you don't fit into it, but today, you knew me for who I was... and now I have to get rid of you.” The car stopped by the side of the road then. The cabby turned, gun to Sherlock's head again, “Now, Sherlock Holmes, out of the car, if you please.”

 

Sherlock raised his hands indifferently, “Alright, alright.” He exited the cab. This place looked familiar... was this where...?

 

“John was talking to George, the tow-man, during his interview rounds. Told him where abouts your car had crashed. George promised to get it in the morning. All that alcohol you presumably drank tonight should help cover this quite neatly.” The other man explained, a torch light shining ahead of Sherlock but a gun still pointed at his back.

 

Ah. He was going to sloppily disguise this to look like Sherlock had gotten drunk and driven himself into a rock. How he expected to hide the bullet wound was beyond Sherlock. It was probably just to give himself enough time to run anyway. It wasn't long before Sherlock saw his car just where he and John had left it earlier stuck in the mid from their little accident.

 

“Now, let's get in the car, why don't we, Mr. Holmes? I know you still have your keys. Open her up and settle in, I've a little treat for you.”

 

“A bullet?” Sherlock asked, sounding bored.

 

“Better.” The cabby answered.

 

Sherlock got into the driver's side of the car, as directed by the cabby, while the man sat behind him. Sherlock saw him reach into his pocket through the rear-view mirror. He took out a little glass bottle, inside it, a single white speckled pill.

 

“Here's your treat, Mr. Holmes.” The man said, shaking the bottle in his hands.

 

“You can't make me drink it.” Sherlock said,

 

“I made them do it.”

 

“With a gun to their back? Why would they take a poison which could potentially take ages, as opposed to a bullet in the head? Quick, easy, relatively painless. I'd rather the gun.”

 

The cabby gave Sherlock a wicked smile through the mirror then and pulled out another bottle. “One for you, and one for me. One is poisoned, one is not. Just like in a marriage, isn't that right, Mr. Holmes?” The Cabby's smirk grew larger, “You take one and I take one, kind of like a vow.”

 

 

 

_______

 

 

John had run out of the pub the moment he noticed Sherlock was missing. He was too late. Sherlock wasn't out here! But then John noticed something, fresh foot prints in the mud. Sherlock's and someone else's at his back. There were tire tracks on the mud as well, going in the direction towards the road Sherlock and John had come into town in. John frowned. What the fuck had Sherlock gotten himself into? John dashed over to the Motorcycle and quickly got on, hoping that he wasn't wrong as he drove it in the direction of the other tracks.

 

Once on the road he was lost, though. There was no clue which way Sherlock had been taken. John knew there was at least one fork on the road coming up the way they'd come as he and Sherlock had seen it when they'd been jogging their way towards the lights of the village pub. John knew he was driving the bike way too fast in this rain, but he couldn't help it in his panic. He only hoped he wouldn't crash the bike this time. He'd be less likely to survive a crash with so little to protect him.

 

Dammit Sherlock, you just had to leave me behind, didn't you, you stupid snarky, bastard. You'd better not be dead, you arse. John thought. Just as he thought of this he began to see a light in the distance. It was difficult to see through the raindrops crashing against his face and the wind blowing into his eyes. John had wondered how Sherlock had seen anything on their way to Mrs. Laurinston's tonight. Probably his robot eyes. John drove faster as he thought of what the idiot's smirk might look like if he heard him say that aloud. As John approached the fuzzy lights he realized it was a car and not just any car – a london cab. John couldn't see who was in it from this distance, but it must be something like three in the morning now and he couldn't think of any reason a London cab would be this far out into this particular road, especially the same such road John highly suspected Sherlock had been taken through.

 

He stopped the bike then, put the break down and got off. The cab continued to drive away, but John could still see it in the distance. He'd catch up to it if he was quick. There wasn't much light up this road, but he knew it was relatively straight from here. John took the heavier end of one of the torches Dimock had given John and Sherlock earlier and used it to smash the front lights on the motorcycle (Sorry, Dimock). He then got back on the bike and sped his way up the road to catch up.

 

Once he was about three car distances away he stayed at that level and watched as they continued driving up the dark wet road. He couldn't get any closer without the possibility that he'd somehow be seen. Despite the darkness, John was still nervous he'd be spotted, and if the little light coming from the lightning bolts in the distance didn't give him away the motor's noise surely would. _That better be you in there Sherlock, and you'd better be okay._

 

_______

 

Sherlock realized then that it had come time to end this little game, lest he lose it now. He huffed a breath and eyed the proffered hand through the side. “And if I don't choose you'll shoot me. I don't know, the way I see it either way I die.”

 

“But do this my way and you've a fifty-fifty chance of living.”

 

Sherlock was silent for a minute. “I'll tell you what,” He finally said, “I'll play your game, if you'll play mine.”

 

The cabby thought for a moment, “What game?” He asked, finally.

 

“Let's call it a new version of my brother's and my favourite game, 'deductions'. Usually, Mycroft and I pick an item belonging to someone and we deduce what we find about the person. But, because it's just you and I here, we'll play it differently. You are going to give me an item of yours and I'm going to use it to guess why you killed Ms. Jennifer Wilson based on what I learn from you using this item.”

  
“And you'll finally tell me how you knew it was me?” questioned The cabby.

 

“MmmmHmmm. What do you say? My game then your game?”

 

“If you lose, you take the pill I choose.”

 

“That's hardly fair.”

 

“I promise you, Mr. Holmes, I don't know which is which.”

 

“Fine. Give me your item.”

 

The cabby shuffled around in the back as he checked his pockets. Finally he retrieved something, held it forward in his hand for Sherlock to see. “Don't–!” The cabby said, as Sherlock reached for it, “–look at it but don't touch it.”

 

Sherlock nodded, and turned round in his seat, raising himself up on his knees to peer at the item from a better angle. It was a small heart shaped locket. It was old and scuffed in some areas. The chain was broken and there was one photograph inside in black and white. Sherlock couldn't see it too well in this light, but he was guessing that this woman was somehow related to the driver. He smiled. Ah... another one.

 

“Okay.” Sherlock said, smirking.

 

“That's it?”

 

“That's it.”

 

“So...? Go?” The cabby prodded.

 

“You sure you want me to? You could still back out.”

 

“So could you.”

 

They were silent a moment.

 

“Your mother was a romantic.” Sherlock began, “She raised you and your sister with those beliefs. Your father however, was not so kind. In fact, he abhorred the romance she so adored. So much so that he wasn't particularly pleasant to her. You resent him for it. Hate him, in fact. He ruined your mother's perfect happy marriage, like so much poison. Worse. He took her from you when he lost his mind.  
_Sister?_ Yes, sister. That first night I met you I didn't think of you as anything more than the cabby who had driven John round London to help him attend two weddings. Still, I noticed the photo you kept on your dash. You and a woman slightly younger bearing a striking resemblance to yourself. Younger than you but not young enough to be your daughter. Sister, then, obvious. Next one's easy, you know it already.”

 

“–The photo in the locket.”

 

“Yes. Heart-shaped, obviously only a romantic could own such an item. The woman in the picture looks young, and bears resemblance to you, but obviously this is a much older photograph. It's in black and white and though she looks like you, she also looks like your sister, but not like both of you for similar reasons. So mother of both and confirming that the woman I saw in the photograph was indeed your sister.

Now, your father. How could I know about your father? The chain. It's broken. Most people would fix an item belonging to a loved one and return it to them, but you can't return it can you? No, because she's dead and he took her from you. How do I know? 'One is poisoned, one is not. Just like in a marriage,' that's what you said. So, someone stopped you believing in marriage then, likely not your mother as you keep her photograph in that locket, but your father. I've not seen a trace of your father on you. Could be that you never had one at all, but then, who'd have yanked that chain from your mother's neck with enough force to break it? Who'd have tossed it hard enough to dent it? Not you, you loved her, but again, you won't fix the locket. If she'd have died naturally, you would have, sentiment. No, you haven't fixed it, because you want a reminder, or perhaps, more likely assurance in order to condone your actions. Seeing the broken item fuels the 'poison' in you and reminds you of what he did to her. You keep the locket because it reminds you of why you are the way you are, and you, _you_ don't _want_ to forget.” Sherlock took a moment to breathe; he was on a roll.

"But, Jennifer Wilson... you killed her for more than the reasons you killed the others in London. The others may or may not have been having affairs. It's why you kill them, because they're having affairs. Poisoning a marriage or their own like your father poisoned his. He hurt your mother, the endless romantic. And she, she committed suicide after he broke that locket like he broke her heart. The police may have made note of it if they knew of the affairs, but they only knew of one. They made note of it but discarded it as they only knew about Sir Jeffrey Patterson but the police didn't know that either Beth Davenport or James Phillimore were parts of an affair with married people. You knew because you'd driven them from one incriminating destination to another. Normally you work in London but you came to see your sister after dropping Jennifer Wilson off. You didn't know she was a serial adulteress at first. How could you? So you brought her to town and went to see your sister, then your sister tells you something. She's suspicious of her husband having an affair. You plan his murder but you go back to London first, for work, then a few days later you come back and find your sister confronting the woman in her kitchen. Your little sister. The one you cared for after your father left you two to fend for yourselves when your mother died and now Jennifer was destroying not only _her_ marriage, but also her own. You'd seen the ring on her finger when you'd picked her up. She was dressed all in pink, like on her wedding day, when she lied to your sister's face and told her she was wrong... but you knew your sister wasn't. Everyone in town knew. They weren't exactly subtle, Jennifer and Carter. But you killed Jennifer, not because you didn't hate Carter for hurting your sister, but because you knew that even if you killed Jennifer here, it'd be more difficult to suspect you. You've only killed in London so far, so you knew that if the police thought this was a suicide much like the London ones they still wouldn't link this death to you, because after Jennifer you planned to go back to killing in London and she would be an outlier in your only established pattern. The police would see this incident with Jennifer as not only a set-up but an inside job as no one other than the police and the killer could know the details of the case so well. Your brother in law would be implicated for Jennifer's murder because of his affair with Jennifer and after her death you'd get them both away from hurting your sister ever again.  
But! How did I know it was _you_ that killed Jennifer Wilson when I've never seen Carter's wife?” Sherlock smirked, “I'll tell you the truth, I didn't. I was suspecting Carter for a long while, though he would have been drunk and in the opposite side of town when she died according to his inebriation level when John and I arrived in town. It was the ring your sister wore in the photograph that let me know she was his wife. Her wedding band, memorable only because of its simplicity was what made her stick to my mind. Carter has an identical one. The minute I saw his ring I knew who he was married to.When I went up to Jennifer's rooms I found all her things were gone. Still I thought it might be him and hoped John would find more evidence. When I came downstairs to do the interviews with John I was disappointed, because I had no more clues, till I saw you at the bar. You had arrived after my announcement of the interviews. It was one of Dimock's statements that helped me make the link most. You see, he told me that Jennifer had ordered a cab, but that it had never arrived. He was wrong of course, you _did_ pick her up and the evidence is in your trunk. Pink suitcase, and inside it, likely her missing phone.”

 

“My... you really _are_ Sherlock Holmes.” The cabby said, clapping. “Very good, very enlightening. I suppose it's only fair. You've won... so you get to choose your bottle.” The cabby laughed and put hands behind his back, mixing the bottles up in his hands, he then put both hands forward in fists. “Time to pick your poison.”

 

Sherlock almost rolled his eyes at the joke. He looked at the hands and thought for a moment. If he were this man, where would he put the poison bottle, this hand... or that one...? Of course.

 

“This one.” Sherlock said, tapping the cabby lightly on the hand.

 

“Ah, interesting choice...” The Cabby said, opening his fists, “Well then, Mr. Holmes, _till death do us part._ ”

 

 

\--------  


Finally John had seen the cab start to slow down and he slowed down too. It pulled over by the side of the road. John couldn't see too well with the lack of light so he'd no idea where they were, but he stopped too hoping his gut was right. His suspicions were proved right as just then, the car door was opened and a man stepped out of the passenger's side. A tall thin man in a long black coat, followed by a shorter man of average build, holding a gun out and a torch.

 

They were talking even as they walked into the grass and John knew then that it was Sherlock. Though he couldn't hear the words that deep rumble was unmistakeable. When John saw the beam of light move out in front of the two men and something shiny appeared in the distance John found that this place was a bit familiar... in fact it was very, very familiar. John very smoothly got off the bike. He took the radio from the back, the one Dimock had given them and prayed to God in Heaven that the darned thing worked.

 

“DI Dimock this is DI Scott's Colleague, Dr. John Watson. DI Scott has been compromised and we are in need of back up, I repeat, we need back up, Over.”

 

It was a while before he heard a choppy voice on the other side.

 

“D-... -imock... -ell... -your location pl—se”

  
_Yes,_ John thought as he radio'ed their location to DI Dimock. He knew _exactly_ where they were.

 

John removed his gun from his waistband at this point, preparing to fire if he spotted any danger. Finally he saw what the men where approaching as the torch light Sherlock's captor was shining revealed the hood of Sherlock's vehicle. John knew it! He was right!

 

John watched as the man waited for Sherlock to enter the car in the driver's side, then got in after him, the torchlight barely visible now as they were inside the car. Nothing seemed to be happening. John walked around carefully and approached the car slowly and as quietly as he could from behind the rock. He crouched low so he wouldn't be seen through the windows. He got as close to the passenger's side where he'd seen the captor as he possibly could and tried to listen.

 

It was all mumbling at first, clearly Sherlock's voice, then some slight silence. He heard Sherlock speak one last time and he strained to hear over the rain.

 

Finally John heard the tail end of a sentence: “...Well then, Mr. Holmes, _till death do us part._ ”

 

 

 

 

 

Sherlock opened up the little bottle and took the pill, raising it up in his hand when suddenly the window behind him crashed and the one in front of him cracked as a gun fired and a bullet flew right past the rear view mirror. Sherlock turned, startled, and the image he saw was one of such instant relief he dropped the pill at once.

 

It was John, he had broken the window with, most likely, the butt of his gun, grabbed the cabby and pulled him through and out into the rain. He had him face down on the ground now, arms pinned to his back, with one hand and with the other he pointed a gun at the man's head. Sherlock gaped. So _this_ was Captain John Watson. For some reason no words came to his mind as he stared at him other than: _God._ _ **Damn**_.

 

“One, move, make one move, and I swear I will shoot you right in the head. Don't test me,” John ( _Captain_ John Watson) was saying, “Now, I am going to get up, and I'm going to take a glance into that car, and you had better hope that Sherlock Holmes is still breathing or I _promise_ you–”

 

“–John!” Sherlock finally found his voice, “No! John stay on him. I'm fine, I'm completely fine. The bullet missed. I-it hit the mirror!”

 

“Sherlock!” John shouted, the instant relief in his voice obvious, and his head turned slightly so he could look back, his body remaining in firm control over the man face down in the ground, “You're sure you're al-”

 

“Yes! Yes! John I'm fine, stay there, hold him. I think I have some cuffs in my car.”

 

John laughed a little as the man beneath him began to struggle, “Sherlock, you mad bastard, I don't even want to know why you have those.”

 

“No!" The man spat into the ground, "no! Not you John! Not you! Not you! Not you! Let me go! Let– ” The cabby began shouting manically.

 

“Shut up!” John shouted at him then and clicked the safety off the gun. “I'm not kidding.”

 

The man sagged again and Sherlock scrambled out of the car, cuffs in hand and secured the prisoner just as police sirens were heard up the road. They soon heard a car screech to a stop.

 

“Here!” DI Dimock's voice shouted in the distance, “That's my bike! They must be around here!”

 

Sherlock rushed back into the car, knowing that Dimock wouldn't hear them over the storm and put his keys in the ignition of his car, effectively turning on its lights and began honking the horn. In less than a minute DI Dimock and four other officers were on them. John had hidden his gun and the perpetrator was taken into custody.

 

“Good job Scotland Yard!” Dimock cheered, clapping them on the back, “Now you will be reimbursing me for the damages to the bike won't you?” He laughed and winked at Sherlock and John.

 

“I'm so sorry about that!” John looked absolutely ashamed, “I will personally–”

 

“Nonsense John, it was my fault you had to do it. Besides, you saved the day. I think you've done enough. Dimock, please, allow me.” Sherlock interrupted.

 

Dimock laughed, “I'm sure it'll be fine, the yard will cover it.”

 

Sherlock and John looked at each other, but Sherlock spoke first, a sly smile on his face, “You're right... I'm sure they will, after all they owe you for catching them their serial killer. Now, if you wouldn't mind, detective I am exhausted. I'd love to come in and make my statement in the morning. John and I need someplace to stay the night, though, of course.”

 

Dimock smiled, “Oh, of course, it's the least we could do. I'm sure Heddy from the inn can set you up with a room. I'll give her call for you, let her know you're on your way. I'm sure one of the boys won't mind driving you in the other squad car.”

 

“Thank you,” Sherlock said walking up towards a car, John following close behind as the rain began to finally calm down.

 

 

 

 

 

They giggled like school girls as they ran into room they were given at the inn.

 

“That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done.” John laughed.

 

“And you invaded Afghanistan.” Sherlock answered through a smile.

 

They dissolved into another fit of giggles as they leaned against the wall. Eventually Sherlock turned to John, an serious expression on his face as he said, “John...”

 

John was still grinning when he turned to him, “Yeah?”

 

Sherlock's eyes gave him pause, he looked nervous, and a little bit terrified. “What's–?”

 

“I bawled like a child at the Sholto wedding.” Sherlock admitted. ********

 

John stared for a second, and something in Sherlock's eyes– he wasn't sure what –made him believe him instantly. John grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward, making their mouths crash together messily as John locked Sherlock in for a heated and mind-numbing kiss. Sherlock's teeth clicked against his own in the impact. They moaned into each other's mouths, their hands grasping desperately at each others' clothes as their tongues danced together in a warm wet and hungry embrace, licking and tasting every inch of the inside of the other's mouth.

 

It was Sherlock who eventually pulled them both up, saying only the word “Bed” in explanation.

 

“Mmf.” John agreed, and they stumbled, still glued to each other towards the bed. John felt the back of his knees hit the side of the bed as Sherlock pushed him back, and he fell onto it. Sherlock lost no time and climbed over him, yanking off his jumper and kissing him as he undid the buttons on the shirt John had worn underneath. Once his chest was exposed, Sherlock made quick work of kissing a tantalizing trail, starting from the jaw to John's neck and working his way down slowly, all teeth and tongue and hands.

 

“Sherlock– I,” John gasped as Sherlock's mouth clamped around a nipple, “I never do this,” John said, his back arching slightly as he rubbed against Sherlock, “–with men I mean. Not since... _Aaaah_ _**god**_ , not since – _unnnghh_ – Afghan– Afghanista-- haaann, _shit_ Sherlock...!”

 

Sherlock merely hmmm'ed and began rubbing John's groin through his trousers with his hand as the other worked awkwardly to remove the zip.

 

“Ahhh, _shit_ Sherlock, I mean it – I – It's been a while I-I – _I never do this!_ ”

 

Sherlock wasn't listening, he was now working on removing John's pants. He pulled them down to his knees swiftly, with absolutely no pretences of self control and released John's cock into the air. In an instant Sherlock grasped it and rubbing himself on John's thigh like a cat as he jerked John off. John gasped and wrestled to pull himself up through the pleasure. **_Dammit_ ,** he _had_ to get Sherlock naked, _now_.

 

He fiddled with the buttons on Sherlock's damp purple top, “Off!” He grumbled.

 

Sherlock laughed and stopped his ministrations for a second to help John tear the shirt off of him and toss it to some far away corner, then undid his own trousers and tossed them somewhere over John's head when they were off. He pushed John back again, kissing him and rubbing them together, moaning all the way, all in swift movements. John would have been disappointed in not being allowed to appreciate Sherlock's nakedness with his eyes, but Sherlock was knew exactly where he wanted to be and was moving quickly to get just where he wanted. John found that he _really_ didn't mind all that much, not with the way Sherlock Holmes was bloody _writhing_ with him.

 

“Fuck Sherlock, _Fuuuuck._ ”

 

“Getting to it John. Patience.” Sherlock answered him then, his voice husky as he winked at John, because _of course_ he'd be an obnoxious bastard in bed too, _the cock._

 

“Oh Goddd Sheeerrrl–”

 

“Mmmm, you're so vocal, John.”

 

“S-s-sorry... I- I'll try and shut-up.” John said, making a valiant effort at being silent for a second before Sherlock stopped, blushing quite prettily, and looking off to the side he said, “No. It's... um... fine...”

It was John's turn to be smug then. Seeing Sherlock blush like that brought a heat inside him and he smirked, grabbed both their cocks with his hand and pulled, “ _Oooooh_ **_John_**. Don't stop. Don't you _ever_ fucking stop.” Sherlock commanded. _Commanded_ , the insolent little shit. John would definitely make him pay for that one, as soon as this stopped feeling so good.

 

“Sherlock we should slow, down, seriously it's been so long since I've done this. I really never do-” Sherlock kissed him again. Deep and wet and hot, his tongue prying John's mouth open and plunging in, thrusting in a tantalizing swirl around John's, brushing it against his teeth. He did not have any desire to slow down even a little bit, and he definitely didn't want to hear John say the words “ _I never do this_ ” another time. He'd a feeling if he let him, he'd be doing it all night. All Sherlock wanted to hear come from John were his breathy moans, ( _yes like this_ ), groaning, swearing and, (Sherlock hoped) when he came, Sherlock's name.

 

John grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him forward, sliding his fingers into Sherlock's still wet curls and grinding their naked bodies together as the kiss got deeper and heavier by the moment. Sherlock finally pulled away and slid himself downwards, his eyes dilated and his kiss-swollen lips looking plump and pink. He continued staring into John's eyes as he scraped his teeth against another nipple, licking and tugging at the flesh gently. John felt more than heard the soft whimpering noise he made as he felt his dick harden to a more impossibly stiffened state. His breathing grew more and more ragged and his skin felt hot, like he was on fire.

 

“Fucking _hell_ Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock was now nipping and caressing his way lower down John's abdomen, which tightened as his hips stuttered while he tried to at least show some modicum of self-restraint, unlike Sherlock who was definitely making his way down lower. He felt him nuzzling against his quivering prick, pressing soft kisses around it, his hand playing with the light trail of hair below his abdomen.

 

“ _Never,_ Sherlock, really, I _never do th_ –,”

 

 _Oh do shut-up, John Watson_ , Sherlock thought as he grasped John's thighs, pulled him closer and swallowed John's thickened cock all the way down his throat.

 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ!”

 

 _Not quite_ , Sherlock thought with a smile in his eyes as he began bobbing his head up and down, looking up at John (who seemed to be hypnotized now by the sight of Sherlock's plump, glossy cupid's bow lips stretched around him), sucking.

  
John couldn't help but push up into the warm depths of Sherlock's mouth as he grasped at John's shaft and lathed upwards, swirling his tongue around the frenulum and groaning deep in his throat. He sucked lightly and then plunged himself back down over and over. John lifted his hips and slid his hands onto Sherlock's head, tugging on his hair lightly as Sherlock continued one of the most amazing blow jobs John had ever had. John felt himself getting close now, and found he really didn't want it to be over this way, despite what his body wanted. He pulled Sherlock back by the hair a little harshly, bringing Sherlock's head up as he pulled himself off of John with a slow suck and a kiss at the end of his prick.

 

“Enough,” John breathed, “I don't want this over yet.” He pulled Sherlock back up for a kiss. Sherlock moved back after a moment and settled himself right above John's dick, just on his abdomen. He reached up and pulled some damp curls out of his face as he began grinding himself wantonly above John, every so often allowing John's cock to rub against the cleft of his ass. Sherlock reached down and gripped himself as he moved in slow, tantalizing circles above John, his voice husky as he released soft breathy sighs. He was a fucking vision.

 

“God Sherlock, I don't think I've ever seen anyone look that-”

 

“Attractive?” Sherlock asked, winking as he pushed himself forward, supporting himself against John's chest with one hand and the other reaching back behind himself. John smirked and watched him “I think I've got some lube in the pocket of my trousers, can you reach?” Sherlock asked as him, gesturing over John's head and rocking himself back on his fingers while rubbing himself on John's stomach, “I don't think I can wait much longer,” He admitted through rough breaths.

 

John felt like he'd lost all ability to speak in that moment, and he simply nodded and reached back over his head to where Sherlock had gestured. He Just barely felt a bit of fabric at his fingertips, but not wanting to take his eyes off of the very wanton looking Sherlock (who had now closed his eyes and was groaning above him), John struggled back with his arm until we was able to grab what he assumed were the trousers using his middle and forefinger. He pulled it forward so he could dig through the pockets more easily until he found the little tube. “You weren't kidding. Bit over-confident aren't you?” John asked, his eyes half lidded as he watched Sherlock move.

 

Sherlock grinned, stopping his wriggling and grabbing the bottle. “Got condoms too,” He said, his voice barely a ragged whisper. He squirted some lube on his hand and reached behind him again, groaning. 

 

“I'll bet you do,” John responded as he found them, ( _them! Multiple!_ ) then started, “Sherlock, I-I _really_ never do this.”

 

Sherlock merely took one of the foil packets and tore in open with his teeth. He crawled back a bit and made quick work of rolling the thing onto John's cock. He took a liberal amount of lube and grabbed at the base, slowly moving his slippery hand upwards to cover John with it. He smiled up at John shyly then and crawled forward to kiss John another time. This time the kiss was slow, sweet and warm. John ran a hand through his hair one more time and caressed Sherlock's cheek tenderly.

 

Sherlock smiled and sat up. “Ready, John?” He asked as he positioned himself directly above John's throbbing dick.

 

John answered almost immediately, “Oh God yes.”

 

Sherlock lowered himself slowly, one hand on John's thigh for support behind him, his back arched and his legs spread as far as he could as he sank down over John using his second hand to guide him in. “Mmmmm” He groaned while John made an equally throaty sound as he entered the heat of Sherlock. _God he was so tight._ John waited a moment as Sherlock settled himself. Finally Sherlock sat forward and began grinding on him. It started slow and teasing at first then quickened when he moved his hands up over his own body running them up the expanse of his chest, one hand over each nipple, moving up towards his neck and higher still, to push his hair out of his face again.

 

“Fffffuck Sherlock.” John breathed as he began thrusting up into him faster.

 

“ _Unf,_ good **_yes_** , John, just like that.” Sherlock groaned arching his back and sinking down faster and faster, his own cock bouncing up and down along with the rhythm as they moved. John pushed himself forward then and grasped Sherlock's ass with both hands, pulling him tight against himself and latching onto that long beautiful neck. Sherlock continued riding him and ground his body against John's stomach, reaching between them and touching himself as John fucked him.

 

“Oh god, John, yes, _harder_!” He practically mewled in John's arms.

  
“You've got it.” John answered and turned them over, never disconnecting their bodies as he continued plunging in and out of Sherlock when he lay him on his back. As soon as he had Sherlock where he wanted him John pulled back as far as he could without pulling himself completely out and then snapped his hips forwards, quick and hard and dirty. Sherlock was no longer making any sense. He just laid there squirming and covering his eyes with a forearm while shouting obscenities into the air, every other word being “John!”

 

John felt it then, the warmth in his chest as his balls tightened just as Sherlock pulled him forward and kissed into his mouth painfully and messily, “John I'm close, I'm so _fucking_ close.”

 

“Ungh, Sherlock...!” Was all he answered as they both felt their bodies shuddering. John watched as Sherlock's eyes opened wide and his pupils blew black practically covering the iris as the hot sticky liquid pulsed out of him onto John's stomach. He gave a few more hard thrusts in the afterglow and then fell boneless over Sherlock, completely spent and nuzzling against his neck.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Okay, long-ass confession time:**  
>  I'm an Asexual Virgin with a capital A and Capital V. Not particularly sex-repulsed, which is I guess how I was magically able to pull that sex scene out of a hat. (o////o) I did actually do a bit of research for this... mostly by reading smutty fanfictions ( _oh my_ , everybody, _ **oh my**_!) So I'm not sure if I went too far... is this _too_ explicit? Should I um... change the rating? It was sort of... an accident. At first I was worried I wouldn't be able to write it, and tbh I saw worse in my journey of smutty fic research in terms of explicitness but uh... it just sort of just came to me as I wrote it. I mean I had notes that I wrote while reading the other fics but they were mainly things like “note: the use of the words moaning and groaning in literally all the smut, stroking, shuddering, quivering, various deep voiced noises, etc" (They're actually really funny notes lmao lots of question marks.
> 
> And yes, they went pretty fast, ( _like bunnies!_ heheheh) because it's one of those quick and dirty fucks like Jane and Kevin's sexy car moment, so that was intentional. I swear it wasn't me trying to get it over with. I really hope you guys weren't expecting a cutey fluffy romantic adorable scene of cuteness for the sexy because I did _not_ want that for this part. I did mean to make it a little funnier but it kept getting too sweet and adorable every time i added the sillies. _I **really** wanted that desperate “finally-fucking-after-all-that-sexual-tension” moment so hopefully that came across pretty well during the sexy._ That being said I have/had no idea what I was doing so excuse me if it's lacking in some way. 
> 
> But yes, that's why I gave a warning in the beginning notes, in case there are any aces who are like “Whoa I was not expecting the sexy” Although it is rated M which I thought warned there would be adult content. Also it's in the title. In any case the only thing that happens is the sexy. You guys didn't really miss out on too much hilarity. There's like one funny line i think. Mostly it's just quick smut so yeah. Don't worry I already started the next chapter. 
> 
> See you again soon!
> 
> -<3 B.


	10. No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lovers wake up in each others' arms all cute and sweet and d'awww. And then the shit hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Not edited. Again. Just get used to the cringe-worthy grammar, spelling and fucked-up tenses. :S
> 
> Again, I feel like the title sort of says it all.

 

 

John woke to the feeling of Sherlock stroking his fingers up and down his spine as John lay over him feeling completely relaxed. He smiled into Sherlock's neck, “Good morning.” He mumbled groggily.

 

“Same to you, _sunshine_.” Sherlock's smug grin was obvious from the sound of his voice, “I'm informed that the tow truck's on its way,” he added lightly.

John nodded, his face feeling a little warm all of a sudden.

 

“I... I um... just want you to know, Sherlock,” He said, raising his eyes to the other man, “I never do this.”

 

“I know.” Sherlock responded easily.

 

“No I mean it,” John said, pulling himself up slightly to give Sherlock a serious look, “seriously, never, never do this.”

 

“Yes, John, I _know,_ you kept saying it last night, over and _over_ again, 'Sherlock I never do this, I never do this, I _never_ do this, I _**neve-**_ ” Sherlock replied in an obnoxious tone.

 

John smacked him softly on the chest, cuddling back down and blushing, “Yeah okay, shut-up I get it. I just wanted you to know, alright?”

 

Sherlock smirked, continuing his lazy strokes. “Hmm, and I assure you, I do.”

 

John sighed and they laid there quietly for a moment, just sort of holding each other.

 

“May I...” Sherlock started, then stopped, his voice trailing off.

 

“Yeah?” John asked.

 

“It's just... I wanted to ask...” Sherlock hesitated, “... about... her. About... Mary. I- you don't have to... that is... I'm just... curious, I suppose.”

 

“What do you want to know?” John asked not looking at him and tracing slow circles on Sherlock's chest.

 

Sherlock's other hand crept under John's jaw and Sherlock gently tilted John's head up so he was looking at him again, “You _know_ what,” he stated.

 

John sighed and turned to lay on his back, effectively crushing Sherlock's stroking arm. Sherlock didn't seem to mind.

 

There was another moment of silence as John thought carefully about what he would say to Sherlock Holmes.

 

“I came back from Afghanistan feeling like utter crap,” He began, “I was shot in the shoulder just above my arm, as you can see. Scar's still there,” he gestured with one hand at the healed-over bullet wound, “I had an intermittent tremor in my left hand, making it impossible for me to ever perform surgery again. I fell into a sort of depression. I was useless, no good to anyone... then I met an old friend, Mike, at a park in England. He invited me as his plus one to some mutual classmate's wedding. Shit happened and I ended up helping out with it somehow. It was good though. It felt good to be needed for a moment but... that's all it was. A moment, until I met Mary. She was a bridesmaid at the party. She was so smart, so beautiful, so charming and so perfect.” John sighed, “I think I felt I loved her instantly. So, naturally, when she asked me to work at the clinic with her, I said 'yes'. And she made me feel useful again. She gave me a job helping people and she allowed me to assist her as much as she needed, knowing that I needed this. She encouraged me to follow through with helping friends during weddings, also knowing how much I enjoyed it. She helped me get back up on my feet after I had plunged myself into a deep and horrible darkness. She... she saved me,” He finished, “I'd have done anything for her. Anything.”

 

Sherlock turned on his side, pulling his arm from underneath John's body to peer at him silently. John continued staring at the ceiling. Sherlock lay back down on his back then, hands behind his head. “Oh. I see.” He finally said.

 

Silence over powered the room once more until John turned, finally, and snuggled into Sherlock again. “Thank you. For ... for um...” _for not making fun of me right now,_ he thought, but he couldn't get the words out.

 

“For last night?” Sherlock smirked, putting an arm back around John.

 

John laughed, “Sure, Sherlock, for last night,” he answered.

 

Sherlock chuckled. They were quiet again for a moment, comfortably this time. Finally Sherlock let go of John and said, “So... Breakfast?”

 

“Starving.” John answered with a grin.

 

 

 

 

________________________

 

 

 

 

  
They were downstairs awaiting their breakfast at the little Inn's adjoining diner a few minutes later, both shyly sipping their coffee and attempting not to stare at each other too much, lest the other notice. The waitress came by in a moment and laid down their plates, asking pleasantly, “Anything else for you?”

 

“No thank you,” They answered simultaneously. Sherlock grinned and looked at John. John blushed and looked down into his eggs.

 

“Hey!” Suddenly a voice spoke up behind them, “It's the great and handsome DI Scott of Scotland Yard's finest and his brilliant partner, John Watson!” It was one of the girls from last night. John almost spit his coffee back into the mug as he giggled remembering Sherlock's gangly limbs dancing awkwardly.

Sherlock laughed loudly, “That we are,” He said his eyes crinkling with a genuine smile.

 

“You two are like Batman and Robin, you are. Heard you caught the killer. Shame about him, Mrs. Carter's brother.” The girl added.

 

Sherlock and John smiled at her. “We did indeed, he is in custody.” Sherlock said, as John spoke, “Yeah it was a shame for her, poor woman.”

 

The girl smiled at them, “Well, ya done brilliantly, you two. And hey, thanks for the drinks, mate.” She said, tapping Sherlock's end of the table and leaving as Sherlock said, “Yup no problem.”

 

John giggled. “I still can't believe we did all that in one night,” He said.

 

“Hmm, we did. Though you were a little rusty in terms of army knowledge, it seems.” Sherlock teased.

 

“Me? Excuse me, what about you? You ran off into the night with a serial killer. You were about to take a fucking poisoned pill.”

 

“I was just bidding my time. I knew you'd show up.” Sherlock said smugly and moved his coffee closer to the edge of the table as the waitress came over to re-fill his cup.

 

John laughed, “Sure, _DI Scott_ , whatever you say–”

 

“Oh my god!” The waitress exclaimed then, “You're him!” She said, pointing at John.

 

“Yes, I'm Robin, he's Batman, apparently.” John said, through a grin.

 

“Hey!” The waitress said turning to one of the other waitresses, “It's that chap from the paper!”

 

“What paper?” John asked, just as Sherlock raised his cup half-way to his face and stopped suddenly. His face paled while his eyes grew large in panic. He looked at John frantically as the waitress passed him a newspaper.

 

“ _Fucking shit_ , Mycroft!” Sherlock whispered in sudden understanding as he read the words 'london journal' from a distance. _That asshole! That stupid fucking lying asshole!_

 

John's eyes darkened as he read the title, “Bachelor John Watson, Groomsman Extraordinaire by Sherlock Holmes?”

 

Sherlock reached for the paper but John pulled it back, asking, “What is this?” as he struggled to understand just what he was seeing.

 

Sherlock huffed out an exasperated breath as he covered his eyes with his hands, _Fucking Mycroft._ _Why? Why did you have to run it? I swear I'll kill you for this._ “John.”

 

“What the fuck?” John said as he turned the page seeing a collage of photos of himself in a variety of his ridiculous groomsman suits strewn across the page.

 

“John– John let me explain–” he tried, bringing his hands out for the paper again.

 

“What the _fuck_?” He gaped.

 

Sherlock brought his hands back to his face and covered the shock on his lips with both as best he could as he took a breath, “John–”

 

John suddenly stood up, throwing the paper at Sherlock's face. Sherlock flinched and in an instant John was running out the door. Sherlock finally reacted and he stood abruptly to run after him, raising his voice,

 

“John!”

 

John stormed out of the diner and into the mid-day sun in a fury, ignoring Sherlock's pleas to turn back.

 

“John! I told Mycroft not to run it. I promise you I had no idea that he'd back out of his word!” Sherlock felt his throat restrict painfully, “John, please. John... I- Nobody reads that section anyway, right? It'll be fine! John please, speak to me!”

 

John turned around then and punched Sherlock straight in the face, knocking him back a few paces. Sherlock stood and stared at him but said nothing, waiting for the line of insults he was sure he deserved, or at the very least another punch in the face. But nothing came. John just looked at him with such an expression of hurt and betrayal and fucking loss... and Sherlock realized then there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do that would fix this, at least not right now while John was so angry. He raised a hand to his cheek and stared as John marched away, taking out his phone and dialling a number, most likely his friend Irene.

 

Sherlock walked back into the inn to pay the bill. Once inside he was cornered by DI Dimock who had brought him all the paper work for Sherlock's and John's statements.

 

“Where's John?” He'd asked.

 

“Still asleep.” Sherlock had lied, not wanting to see the look of pain on John's face again. It would be too soon if he did.

 

“Ah, I'll get to him later, I suppose.” DI Dimock had smiled.

 

Sherlock hadn't even attempted to smile in return, turning his attention instead to the papers before him.

 

 

 

––––––––––––

 

 

 

Hours later Sherlock stormed into Mycroft's office at the London Journal. “WHAT THE _FUCK,_ HAPPENED MYCROFT?” He shouted as he slammed the door against the wall, “You said you were going to hold it! You _promised_ me, Mycroft!” He yelled at the risk of sounding childish, “You _fucking_ _ **promised!**_ ”

 

Mycroft sat in his chair, apparently cool as a cucumber as he read over some files on his desk, “You don't make those decisions, brother mine _. I_ do.”

 

“You foul fucking snake! You didn't even give me a chance to tell him! He was ambushed!”

 

Mycroft stood then, his anger flaring, “Doctor John Watson is a soldier, he's handled much worse than this little debacle. You asked me to give you a feature story, I gave it to you. You asked me to give you Anderson's story. I gave that to you also, but you went against your word and got involved with the Police's work. Sherlock, not only does the murderer get a chance to go free if it gets out that you were the mysterious DI Scott, but I run the risk of losing this entire paper due to _your_ sloppy work! The only things you should be saying to me right now are your apologies. Now get out of my office and get back to work before I have you removed. I am _not_ in the mood for one of your childish tantrums!”

 

Sherlock glared for a moment then hit him in the face and left, fuming.

 

 

––––––––––––

 

 

 

Harry dashed towards John as he entered his flat.

 

“John! How could you let this happen to me?!” She screeched, waving the London Journal in John's face and quoting angrily, “ _'If John is the prototypical accommodating best man, then his sister, Harriet Watson is cast as the over-bearing, over-indulged bride-to-be, who at any moment, one worries, might start stomping around London breathing fire and swatting planes from the sky_!'”

 

John rolled his eyes and said, quietly, “Harriet, I didn't know he was writing an article about me...”

 

“You!?” Harry exclaimed, crumpling up a section of the paper hysterically, “You!? He called me _bride-zilla –_ in the London- _fucking_ -Journal! I'll tear him apart, I swear!” She emphasized this by ripping parts of the paper to shreds, letting the pieces fall to the ground like snowflakes, “I'll tear his stupid skinny body up limb from limb.”

 

John just sat there tuning out her harpy-like noises as he tried very hard not to think about how happy he'd felt in Sherlock's arms this morning, how perfect and real everything had seemed last night. How exciting the case had felt. How alive he'd thought he was in those moments with him. This was a nightmare, a stupid horrible nightmare.

 

Harry's yelling and John's reverie were interrupted by the ringing of John's home phone. John made no move to stand up and Harry turned, exasperated to pick up.

 

“Ugh!” She screamed as she accidentally knocked over an empty plastic vase, “What?!” She yelled into the phone.

 

“May I please speak to John?” Sherlock asked politely on the other end as he walked out of the London Journal's headquarters.

 

John watched as Harry's face went pale with rage, “Oooh!” She spoke in realization, “You have some _fucking nerve_ , don't you?! Listen to me carefully, _you bloody wanker_ , the only fucking person _you're_ going to be speaking to is _my_ _ **bleeding**_ _lawyer_ , and I don't even _have_ a lawyer but I'm sure as _shit_ going to get one, you pompous good-for-nothing, cock-sucking, _arsehole_!” Harry finished by bellowing the last insult into the phone then hung up violently and chucked it on the couch next to John as she screeched again wordlessly and began tearing up more of the paper in her hands in frustration. She stomped on it and finally started walking away, crying “I've got to get out of here! _I've got to get out of here!_ Oh,” she turned back to John, screaming in his face and waving her arms about as she spoke this last part, “But you'd better alert _Scotland Yard_ because Bride-zilla's on the loose!” With that she stormed out of the flat, slamming the door in her wake.

 

John just sat there and let her leave.

 

 

 

 

––––––––––––

 

 

 

 

John walked into his office at the clinic two days later and saw a pile of sticky notes littering his desk. “Sherlock, Sherlock, _Sherlock,_ _ **Sherlock**_ _, SHERLOCK,_ ” He read, getting progressively more exasperated with each mention of the man's name, “ _ **Stop calling me!**_ ” He grumbled in a fury as he tossed the notes into the bin.

 

Irene walked into his office then and leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest and a beautiful eyebrow raised.

 

“Before you say anything... can you just... _not_ say anything?” John asked her, sighing.

 

“I don't understand.” Irene shrugged, “To what are you referring?”

 

John just gave her a meaningful look.

 

“Oh, come now, John,” Irene said, coming over and stroking his arm in comfort, “It's not so bad. It's just one measly article... in the front page of the section, with hundreds of photos of you on it... who's upset?”

 

The intercom buzzed then, and Mary's voice came through, “John! John, could you come here please?” She asked.

 

John looked at Irene sadly. She tried to hide her worried look by giving him an encouraging smile as she opened the door for him. John caught it anyway and squeezed her hand on his way out.

 

 

“Mary, let me just explain,” He began as he walked into her office, “I had no idea what he was writing,”

 

“John,” Mary spoke quietly and gently, “The man was a twat. He took advantage of you. Don't worry about it-”

 

“-I know” John interrupted, “I just- I feel like I should have seen it coming, and I'm really so sorry.”

 

“John, John would you please stop apologizing?” Mary gave him a soft pitying look and stood to walk over to him from around her desk, “Look, the only reason I called you into my office is because I wanted to make sure you're okay, alright?”

 

“Oh.” John answered, then smiled weakly, “Well... I've been better. I've been worse, mind you, but... I'm just going to try and get through it.”

 

Mary smiled at him sweetly and pulled him in for a hug, “That-a-boy. Alright, don't you worry about it anymore, do you hear me? No one reads that stupid section anyhow, right?” She asked as she let go and opened the door of her office to let him out.

 

“No, no one.” John agreed and smiled at her, the weight on his chest feeling slightly lifted. Good old Mary. She always knew what to say.

 

 

 

__________

 

 

 

 

Harry stood in the bridal shop dressed in a little white bustier and a silk under-skirt and holding a clipboard as she spoke to the seamstress while John walked in.

 

“We'll talk about it after,” Harry said, turning to the seamstress then addressed John, “Hi!”

 

“Hullo.” John answered, “And hello Sue,” He said greeting the seamstress amicably. She inclined her head with a smile as she walked away.

 

“Soooo, listen,” Harriet said in her most charming voice, “I've been doing a lot of thinking about the article fiasco aaaannd I've decided to forgive you.”

 

“Hmm, very mature of you Harry, thank you.” John said with slight sarcasm.

 

Harry ignored it, “You're just very trusting and it's not your fault, I suppose,” she continued as she checked a point off on a sheet of paper on her board.

 

“Like I said, it's all fine... wait... are you checking me off your list?” John asked, reaching for it.

 

Harry ignored that too, and pulled it back towards her chest, “Um... about the slideshow,” She said, “I know exactly what I want you to say so I wrote you a script and mum says you've got all the family photos, and Mary tells me you've hers as well...”

 

John frowned slightly but nodded, “Yes.”

 

“Okay, good,” Harry flipped some papers around and turned it towards John, “Please say this, and _only_ this,” she implored. John gave a glance at the sheet as Harry continued talking, “Because we don't want to be embarrassed again.” Harry smiled a little unpleasantly.

 

John gave her a false grin in return, “You've got it,” he said, taking the script to look at it more closely as a woman walked in with a bundle of clothes and Harry turned to her, gasping.

 

“Oh! Here it is!” She exclaimed excitedly as John sat down to read.

 

Fabric rustled on the floor as Harry got dressed and John looked up from the sheets of paper then, frowning slightly. Wait, had Harry changed her mind and decided to wear mum's dress instead?

 

But Harry wasn't wearing mum's dress or father's suit. She was in a long elegant white-blue dress with thin straps, a light blue top with white lace over-lay, dainty elegant frills on the bust, a blue ribbon at the waist and a cascading chiffon skirt that looked like a rolling ocean wave billowing downwards from where the dart was emphasized with three small fabric flowers along with slim ribbons hanging on the side.* She looked stunning, but John was confused.

 

“Harry... I thought you were wearing father's tuxedo...?” John finally asked.

 

“It _is_ father's tuxedo.” Harry said, then, finally looking at John and smiling excitedly as she turned towards the mirror, “Well,” she shrugged, “Parts of it.”

 

John's frown deepened from confused to upset.

 

“It was just so old fashioned,” Harry continued, “So we were only able to use a few parts here and there.”

 

“Parts?” John asked, still in slight shock.

 

“Mmmhmm,” Harry answered, the cheery smile still on her face as another seamstress walked into the room carrying a bundle of what looked like scraps of fabric, “Yeah, like the bust, and this ribbon, and the little flowers. Oh! There's some lace from the frills on the bust as well.”

 

John stood staring more closely, “You cut up da's wedding tux?”

 

Harry grinned, “Well, technically Marion did,” she said, pointing at the scraps that the seamstress had brought in. Seeing the expression of hurt confusion on John's face she added, “Oh! But don't worry, we saved you the rest! And, I mean, If you want, and if you marry a woman, your wife could always wear this, as long as the silhouette's still in style, of course.”

 

John ran his fingers on the scraps of fabric of the little table. The suit had been ruined beyond repair. He picked up a piece of what looked like the sleeves and felt his eyes sting in pain while Harry turned and chattered away with the seamstresses.

 

“No.” John said suddenly, “No, no, no, no, no. Nope.” and he turned and walked out of the little room, his heart suddenly feeling like it was shattering into pieces. Harry turned and followed him, confused.

 

“It's fine John, she doesn't have to wear it.”

 

“God, Harriet, you don't care.” John said facing her as he spoke, and pointed at her “You don't give a shit about anyone but yourself, do you? I have made excuses for you ever since father died when you were little but enough is enough.” He finished angrily and started storming out.

 

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Harry stated, confused as she stood looking at John.

 

John sighed and said to her as he faced her again, his face contorted in disappointment, “Harry, you can't undo what you've just done, but I won't let you hurt Mary. She thinks she knows the truth about you, but all she knows are the lies you've told her, you even had Archie keep a secret from her. You tell her the truth _right now_. She's not one of your trashy wanna-be model girlfriends, Harry, she's a good person, and you cannot start a relationship based on lies!”

 

“Oh really John? And you know this because of all of _your_ successful relationships?” Harry spat.

 

John spoke calmly then, looking deep into Harry's eyes so she could see the open anger inside of him “You tell her the truth, Harriet, or I will.”

 

Harry narrowed her eyes at him, “No you won't, John. You wouldn't hurt a fly, and you definitely wouldn't hurt me; I'm your little sister.”

 

John's voice was steel as he glared back at Harry, “That was yesterday, Harriet. Today you're just the bitch that broke my heart and cut-up my father's wedding tux.” He turned then and walked out of the shop, leaving Harriet screaming behind him in rage,

 

“Yeah well, that suit wouldn't have fit you anyway!”

 

 

 

\---------------  
  
  
  
It was the night of the rehearsal dinner now and people milled about in the large fancy restaurant that Mary and Harriet had rented out for their celebrations. John was dressed smartly in a black well-fitted suit and crisp wine-red shirt. He swerved around the guests smoothly as he made his way over to Harriet and Mary, a look of determination on his face.

An older woman walked up in front of him, blocking his way and startling him on his path (cousin Joseph's mother, it seemed) saying “John! You look so handsome! Good for you! Oh, darling it must be so hard seeing your younger sister get married before you!”

 

John arched a brow at the old woman, “Yes, yes it is pretty hard,” He said in a false friendly tone, “But then I remember that I still get to have hot hate-sex with random strangers of all genders and I feel _so much_ better.” He smiled at her unpleasantly as her face morphed into offended shock.

“Enjoy the party,” John spat and pushed past her towards Irene, where, incidentally he was keeping a bag with his laptop in it.

 

“Ooooh, you're looking quite delectable tonight, John,” She teased, taking a sip of her vodka, “I might even want a bite,” She smiled and clicked her teeth as she bit the air in a provocative manner.

 

John ignored her and turned to the man who would be running the projector saying, “Alright, it's unlocked right now and you'll find the file on the desktop under the title _'Harry and Mary'_ ”

 

“Okay,” the man answered as he took the computer with him.

 

“You alright, dear?” Irene asked.

 

“Yup.” John answered, grabbing her glass and swallowing down the clear liquid in one go.

 

Irene stared in shock as he finished it, “Thhhhaat's not water... Okay, okay.”

 

John walked away from her and made a b-line towards Harry and Mary.

 

“Hi!” He greeted cheerily.

 

“Hello, John!” Mary beamed at him, “Thank you so much for doing all this, it's absolutely wonderful!”

 

“Sure, yeah,” John answered as a waiter came up to them and offered them some hors d'oeuvres, “Oh! Look!” John said, grabbing one in false excitement, “Pigs in a blanket! Want one Harry?” He asked, shoving it under John's nose.

 

Harry smiled and almost reached up for it but caught herself quickly, “What? No! I - don't eat that stuff, John!” She finished with a sweet-looking smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

 

John looked at her expectantly.

 

Harry simply continued smiling, attempting not to look nervous.

 

“Right. That's right, I understand.” John said, then stuffed the whole thing in his mouth gracelessly while looking between the two of them and chewing.

 

Harry grinned in relief, smiling at Mary.

 

“Well,” John said, through his food, “I'm going to go put on that slide show!” The look in his eye giving away all the insults he wanted to hurl at his sister in that moment.

 

Mary didn't seem to notice, but Harry pulled him back as he began walking away, saying, “John!”

 

John raised his brows. “Hmm?”

 

Harry looked down, she couldn't look John in the eye for a second and she hesitated until she found her courage and looked at him imploringly, whispering, “Y-you're only going to say what I wrote, right?”

 

“Of course.” John said seriously, “A perfect groomsman always does as he's asked.”

 

Harry stared after him, a look of slight concern on her face as he walked away. John did not look happy.

 

John glanced at her as he reached the table with the projector and gave her his best reassuring smile. It seemed to work, as Harry's look of suspicion turned into one of relief as she made her way back toward Mary, beaming.

 

 

 

John waited until everyone was seated. Once he was satisfied he tapped his champagne glass with his fork.

 

“Hello everyone.” John started, “In case you haven't already read this, I'll let you know that I have been to my fair share of weddings.”

 

The crowd laughed at John's self-depreciating joke.

 

“So, to start things off, I thought you should all know the truth about Harriet and Mary.” John spoke with a very serious expression on his face and looked at Harry, who only shook her head subtly at him, begging him with her eyes not to say anything.

 

John pursed his lips and picked up the sheet of paper with the script Harry had written for him. He cleared his throat and started, “Harriet and Mary are a perfect couple. No– a _divine_ couple,” Here John gave a barely noticeable unpleasant smile as he continued, “A couple whose love is the stuff of myths. Their compatibility is so exact, that it can only be described as having been designed by the gods.”

 

The room gave an audible “awwww.” John mentally rolled his eyes as he continued reading, “Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I have now put together a slide-show so you could all see for yourselves.”

 

Everyone in the room seemed to smile as they settled to watch and a cheery song rang out in the background.

 

“From the very beginning, Harriet and Mary,” John stepped aside to read as the show commenced “were destined for each other.”

 

Two photos of very cheerful female babies followed his words. One subtitled with Harry's name and the next with Mary's. The room giggled and “awww”'ed again.

 

“Harry and Mary have always shared a love of god's furry creatures.” John stated sarcastically as two more photos appeared on screen. The first was of Mary as a child petting a goat, the second of Harriet holding a hissing cat by its hind legs and smiling at the camera mischievously. The room exploded into laughter. Harry ducked her head but smiled nervously.

 

John spoke through the laughter, “As they grew up they both shared the same level of dedication and commitment to their education.” This was followed by a photograph of Mary on her graduation day, and one of Harriet dressed as a cheerleader with her hand halfway up another cheerleader's skirt and whispering into her ear with a look that was less than innocent. Laughter rang out in the room again.

 

Mary giggled as Harry blushed, “Nice.” She whispered, a smile on her lips.

 

“And civic responsibility,” John continued, a picture of Mary in her scrubs inside a make-shift clinic in the south american jungle with a stethoscope in hand and a child holding her hand as she checked a woman's heart-beat popped up followed by a photo of Harriet in a skimpy swimsuit during a college car wash while another girl lathered soap onto her chest.

 

Mary's smile was slightly less entertained at that one, even Irene frowned at the photos even as some people in the room continued sniggering.

 

“Mary was interested in international affairs...”(Mary with a couple of international doctors standing outside an embassy), “And so was Harriet,” (Harriet with her shirt pulled up high and two female models on each arm, both kissing her cheeks, one with her hand on Harry's stomach and the other on her thigh, just below her crotch as Harry laughed at the camera posing in front of the Eiffel Tower)

 

Mary looked visibly uncomfortable as she pulled away from Harriet slightly. Harry cast her eyes downward and swallowed as someone in the room said, “Oooh.” No one laughed. Harry glared up at John and shook her head subtly to show her anger.

 

“And today,” John was said, a false smile still plastered on his face, “Harriet and Mary still share the same values.” A photograph of Mary and Redbeard playing and a photograph of Harry messily devouring some ribs.

 

Mary took a long swig of her drink. Harry stared determinedly at the slide show.

 

“Their love is based on a deep understanding and acceptance of who the other person is.” John read.

 

Mary rested her head against her hand, her eyes locked on the photograph of Harriet eating.

 

John looked at the screen as the picture shifter to one of Mary and two young students in a lab, and then to one of harriet screaming at cousin Malcolm, her hand raised in a fist as John and his mother held her back. These were followed by a photograph of Harry looking displeased as she held a crying baby, and one of Harry pushing Redbeard back as he attempted to lick her.

 

Irene bit her lip between her teeth and looked at from Harriet, to Mary, to John with an extremely worried expression.

 

“The love of two true soul mates, Harriet and Mary.” John spoke, his eyes narrowed at his sister as she looked at him, her mouth slightly open in an upset shock.

 

The lights came back on and the room stared around at each other awkwardly. Irene got up quickly from her seat and tapped Archie on her way over to John.

 

Archie got up, subtly.

 

“So here's to the most perfect couple,” John finished, his expression clearly saying what he truly meant as he raised his glass, “brought together by destiny. I'm so proud of you baby sister.” He brought his glass to his lips and drank, staring Harry down, daring her to get up and say something.

 

“Ooookay!” Irene's voice broke the silence as she joined John at the front of the room, “Alright, well that was certainly... an experience.” She pushed John towards out of the way and stood with her hands on her hips, awkwardly, “So... ummm... to keep the merriment going, Mary's godson, Archie, wanted to say a few words...” She gestured to Archie as he walked over, “So let's give a hand to Archie!”

 

The room clapped and Mary turned to Harriet, whispering, “So, it's safe to say you're not a vegetarian then?”

 

Harry smiled nervously, “Mary that was taken a very long time ago...”

 

“Then, why exactly were you wearing your engagement ring?” Mary asked, getting frustrated.

 

“Thank you!” Archie started, interrupting their argument, “As all of you know, Mary is my godmother, but she's more than that. She's one of my best friends.”

 

The room gave an “awww”

 

“And not Mary has found Harry, who's actually not so bad, once you get to know her.” He continued. Harry smiled at little Archie hopefully.

 

“She always knows how to keep me entertained. She even promised to help me start my own cleaning business.” Archie smiled and gave Harry a thumbs up, but then saw an odd expression of shock on her face, and realized what he'd said. “Oh... right... I wasn't supposed to tell you, Mary,” The look Mary gave Harry was not pleasant, as the little boy continued, “but I'm actually quite excited,” (Harry gave a weak worried open-mouthed smile in response to Mary's look of disappointment), “I'm only doing Harry and Mary's place right now, but if anyone's in the market for a really good cleaning service, you can speak to me in the lobby.” Archie finished, smiling pleasantly, “Thank you”

 

John stood awkwardly in a corner off to the side with Irene next to him.

 

The room clapped politely at little Archie.

 

Mary stood from her seat instantly, “That's great. Really, great, Harriet.” She walked away without another word.

 

“No! Mary! Mary, wait! Please, let me talk to you!” Harriet cried.

 

John looked down at the carpet. Irene stared at him for a moment then crossed her arms, “So... sweetheart, what happened there?”She asked kindly.

 

John looked up, swallowing back a lump in his throat. He pouted and cleared his throat, “She... she needed to know the truth,” He said, staring directly ahead, his hands behind his back.

 

“You could have just spoken to her in privacy.” Irene said gently as John picked up his wine from the counter next to him and took a large mouthful, “I don't claim to own a moral compass that points exactly due North but... if I say something doesn't seem right, then something's definitely gone wrong.”

 

John looked at her incredulously, “Irene, you've always been the one to tell me I need to stop being so polite and stand up for myself.”

 

“Yes, dear, but that isn't exactly what you did, is it?” Irene said, “What you did was unleash twenty years of repressed feelings in one night. –It was entertaining, don't get me wrong– but if it was the right thing to do you'd feel better right now...” Irene put a soft hand on John's arm as he looked back down at the carpet, “Do you feel better right now?”

 

John stared at his glass of wine. _Shit._

 

Harriet's footsteps came clattering back towards them. John looked up and opened his mouth to apologize, as he saw her red-rimmed eyes glistening with unshed tears, but Harry spoke first, “The wedding's off. I hope you're happy.” She croaked and walked away.

 

John stared after her and swallowed. He felt his eyes fill up with tears but didn't let it show, turning his back on Irene and marching out of the restaurant with a quiet determination. He would not apologize for tonight. Not right now. Not after all it took for him to finally say something.

 

 

\----------

 

 

Sherlock stood hidden behind a plant by the window near the exit. He watched quietly as John's family, his sister and his friend silently reprimanded him for his behaviour. Sherlock however, was proud of him. He looked beautiful tonight even as he stood with his head held high in firm control, doing his best not to allow his regret to show. When John finally walked out of the door, Sherlock followed him.

 

\-----------

 

 

 

John sighed once he was outside and took in a huge gulp of air, doing his best to calm down. He felt rather than heard as someone followed him out and looked at him. John swung round slowly to look at them.

 

There, standing in a posh cool grey silver suit and his Belstaff coat, was Sherlock Holmes.

 

John's face fell even more than he had already felt it falling, “Ugh, God, What?” He asked as he looked up into the sky and did his best to pull back his tears. He would not cry in front of Sherlock fucking Holmes. He looked at him with frustration, “Why are you here?”

 

Sherlock hesitated looking down at the sidewalk then brought his eyes back up to John, “You wouldn't answer any of my calls,” he whispered, loud enough for John to hear him.

 

John didn't really listen. “What do you _want_ , Sherlock?” He spat his name like a curse, “Do you want another picture, for your paper?” He fumed.

 

“John– I am sorry–” Sherlock began.

 

“Ugh please–” John cut him off half-way as Sherlock continued, “–believe me–” John raised his voice with a sense of finality, “–you _used_ me to get ahead in your career!”

 

Sherlock flared then, “Career?! What career?! Do you think this is what I want to be doing for the rest of my life? That that sort of _trash_ is what I wanted to wri– John, I wrote that article because you interested me so much when I first met you, and yes, it wasn't kind, because I didn't know you any better then, and I wanted to believe that your beliefs were childish and stupid but I - I did _not_ want that story printed! I begged Mycroft not to run it but he did anyway, to spite me. I never meant– I didn't want to hurt you, John... I–”

 

“But you wrote it.” John said, quietly, “You wrote it and you gave your brother the story anyway. Be a man, and admit it... or don't, but please, please don't pretend that you give a _shit._ ”

 

All the while Sherlock had been chanting his name, “John, John. John– please just let me explain –”

 

“No! It doesn't matter,” John shouted, and pointing towards the restaurant he cried, “I just destroyed my life and I didn't need your help!”

 

“Great!” Sherlock answered, his voice sounding harsh but encouraging. John have him a look of outrage as he continued, “ _Finally!_ I saw what you did in that room and John I thought you were brilliant. Was it a moment of absolute madness? Yes, it was a bit, but you did _something,_ John, for the first time in a long time you were not just the perfect groomsman!”

 

John stared for a moment until he realized who it was that was praising his actions tonight, “Stop. I'm not doing this with you again. I don't even know why I've let you stand here and talk to me.” He made to leave in the other direction.

 

“No! John, look, please!” Sherlock followed after him and said, “Come here, listen to me,” as he grabbed John's hand and pulled him back to face him.

 

John glared at Sherlock and pulled his arm back and using it to punch Sherlock in the face, shoving him back a few paces on the pavement. “No, Sherlock! No! You don't touch me! You don't _get_ to touch me! Not after all you've done!”

 

Sherlock frowned but continued talking, “John the reason I'm here tonight is because I knew this would be hard for you, and for the first time in a really long time I wanted to be there for somebody. I wanted to be here for you John, even if you don't want me...” John gave him a look of disbelief, but his feet remained rooted to the spot as he listened, “I know I screwed things up. I mean really, really messed everything up and _I apologize._ And John, after tonight I'm going to turn 'round, walk away and vanish and I promise you that you will never see me again if you don't want to, but I before I do... I want you to know that I think you deserve more than what you've settled for.” John scoffed. “No, I do. I really do, John. You deserve to be taken care of, for a change. I believe that, John.”

 

John turned away swallowing back the tears that wanted to spring forth. To hear Sherlock saying those words... it hurt him, because those were the words he _most_ wanted to hear right now and he wished, god, _he wished_ he could believe him. But Sherlock had said pretty words to him before and in one thing he was correct; John deserved better. He deserved better than the pain that was caused him by Sherlock Holmes.

 

Sherlock saw then that John would never forgive him. He felt his throat constrict and he knew his eyes must be glossing over right about now. He looked back behind John's face in an attempt to hide the distress he felt and a quiet sound, almost like a breath and a sob escaped his lips as he looked into John's clear blue eyes for what he intended to be the last time and began walking away.

 

John stared after him and watched as Sherlock looked up towards the sky and covered his mouth with a shallow intake of breath, his back still turned and his legs still moving him down the side walk.

 

John was still looking when Sherlock turned around, staring at the ground, “Ah... I forgot.” He pulled a small smart-phone out of his pocket. “I got this for you. It's...” Sherlock licked his lips, “It's a gift, so you don't have to carry around that insane journal from nineteen-eighty-seven with you anymore. It'll take care of... all of your appointments and the other things you might need to do...” John rolled his eyes, in annoyance as Sherlock finally looked up at him, saying, “It's... perfect for starting your life over again.” He held the phone out towards John, smiling weakly.

 

John just looked at him. He couldn't move, refused to be 'taken care of', by Sherlock Holmes.

 

“I can take care of myself.” He heard himself whisper.

 

Sherlock stared back at the ground. “Right. Right, of course. I'll just... I'll leave this here then.” He placed the phone precariously on the thick wood of the restaurant's patio fence. He squared his shoulders, looked John in the eye again and said, bravely, “Goodbye, Doctor John Watson. It has been a pleasure knowing you.” He made to extend his hand but, thinking better of it, pulled it back behind his back. He gave John another weak smiled and this time, when he walked away he did not turn back around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: this is similar to the dress I pictured, except with the dainty frilled bust and straps. Also the ribbon is not silk. Also there are the little flowers with the slim ribbons. www - pinterest - com/ pin /413557178258098420/  
> Maybe once I finish the fic I'll draw things and add them at the end so you can see what my brain saw.
> 
> Also: Ahhhh! Angst again! (but mostly anger)  
> Don't hate the plagiarizer, hate the original script. :P  
> Um... I'm sorry? It wasn't me? 
> 
> Hey! Remember last chapter? How they were happy (and wet and sweaty)? And and the beginning of this chapter where they were cute and cuddly and adorbs and totally lovey-dovey? Yeah... good times. Gooooood times.
> 
> ps. Sherlock's such a creep. Hiding behind plants. What a weirdo. <3  
> I liked the part where Mycroft raged at him and then Sherlock hits him in the face. Oh! And i liked the part when John hit Sherlock in the face. 
> 
> I guess I just like to imagine people hitting each other in the face. I'm so mean. :O


	11. What We Deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Angst. And recovery. And a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited. Not beta'd. You know the drill.  
> Also this one's really short. Maybe should have combined it with the last one. Maybe I will when I finish and decide to edit the whole thing.

John had smiled as Sherlock had left that night. He knew as he walked away that Sherlock would be true to his word, and there was an honour in that which John appreciated. Finally, he looked down and picked up the mobile phone, thoughtfully. _Good bye, Sherlock Holmes,_ he thought even as he held the phone in his hand and put it in his pocket, _and thank you._

 

 

He went home then. Walking. He was afraid if he took a cab the rush of emotions would get to him. The fresh night air made him feel much better. It was around two in the morning when he arrived at his flat. He felt calm, as if a million weights had been lifted from his shoulders as he set his keys and suit jacket by the front table.   
  


  
He looked round the room and took in all the flowers in vases, Harriet's from Mary, and all the wedding plans strewn across the table. _I'll take care of it in the morning._ He thought as he went to straight to bed.

 

 

 

\---------------

 

 

 

 

Sherlock felt empty as he stared at nothing in particular while he sat at his couch in his own flat. His heroine needle sat neatly back in its box as Sherlock took in the feeling of the drugs rushing through within his veins and burning him up inside.

 

He vaguely heard the chime of a phone as he tilted his head up to the ceiling, feeling his pupils dilating. He picked it up unceremoniously mumbling, “What is it Mycroft?”

 

“The story got a phenomenal response, and the police were actually impressed with your help catching the prisoner. It looks like you get your wish after all. You may move on to investigative journalism, if you so desire.”

 

Sherlock's eyes filled with tears at the thought of leaving the commitments column now as he remembered some of John's first few words to him when he'd found out William Scott was actually Sherlock Holmes, _'You write the most beautiful things...'_ he'd said, and later, at the pub, before their adventure, _'you wrote a column that moved me to tears...'_ Commitments was all Sherlock had left in connection to John Watson now.

 

“Sherlock?” Mycroft queried when Sherlock didn't answer.

 

Sherlock swallowed as he thought of the torture investigative journalism would be now that he knew what it felt like to solve a mystery with John at his side. The thought of ever doing it again without him was almost one he couldn't bear. He couldn't help the sob that escaped him as he dropped the phone and he put a shaking hand to his mouth.

 

“Sherlock?!” Mycroft's voice was in a panic over the phone, as he shouted into the receiver shakily, “Sherlock?! What have you taken?! Did you make a list? Sherlock please, when I get to you, please, have a list. I'm coming over! Stay–”

 

Sherlock hung up the phone and lay back on the couch in his pyjamas and blue silk robe. His eyelids felt heavy. He just wanted to sleep.

 

 

 

\--------------

 

 

 

John sat on a stool in Mrs. Watson's little shop as his mother spoke to him sternly, “Look, Johnny all I'm trying to say is that the two of you are siblings, and it breaks my heart to see you both this way,”

 

“I know, mum,” John answered, “But I'm telling you she really doesn't want to speak with me.”

 

“No,” His mother implored, “No, John, you're wrong. Your sister adores you. Everything is going to be fine, my darling, if you'll just _talk_ to h–”

 

The shop bell rang as some one walked in, “Mum?” Harry's voice rang out as her eyes searched for her mother. She found her quickly standing in front of John with a look of surprise on her face.

 

John didn't say anything as Harry's face contorted in rage, “What the fuck is _he_ doing here?”

 

Mrs. Watson looked at her daughter kindly and took her hand, “Harriet, this is between you and John.” She spoke more sternly then, “I'm not a part of this. Now you two will settle down and talk like adults while I go upstairs and sort out a few things, and when I return the two of you had better be on speaking terms.” The old woman let go of Harry's hand and walked quickly up the stairs.

 

John stared around the shop and said nothing while he waited for Harry to start yelling. He knew by now it was best to let her get out all her anger first and then try to reason with her. If he spoke first, there was no way she would listen, and anyway Harry owed him as much of an apology as he owed her.

  
Harry crossed her arms and glared at him, refusing to talk.

 

John sighed, breaking first, “Harry, I feel awful. Believe me, I'm very sorry for what happened–”

 

“Sorry?” Harry's asked, “You humiliated me in front of every single person that we know, and you think you can just say, _'sorry'_?” Her voice raised with every word as she let the anger pour out of her.

 

“I-I know, but I-” John tried, but he found, even after all this time he didn't know what to say.

 

“John,” Harry continued, “You were always jealous of me!”

 

John's face wrinkled into confusion and he stared at Harry then, “What?”

 

“Always!” At this Harriet picked up a few of the throw-pillows their mum had on some of the chairs and threw them at John viciously with each word, “My looks, my girlfriends! You've just been waiting for the chance to tear me down!”

 

“That's not true!” John shouted back at her as she threw a decorative basket of false flowers at him, “Ow! Harry!”

 

“Yes it is!” Harry continued, “And you took the one thing in my life that was finally working out!”

 

“Oh please, this is so typical of you Harry!” John finally stormed, “You're not taking any responsibility for the shit that you've done! Harry you lied to Mary, not me! You manipulated–” but Harry glared at John as he advanced on her and picked up a bottle of air freshener, preparing to spray it at John's face, “Put down the bottle! Harriet, put down the bottle!” He struggled with it trying to hide his face as he grabbed her, not wanting to use too much force until he was able to pry it out of her hands. She screeched and bit him to make him let go of her wrist, “God-dammit Harry!” and she squirmed out of his reach, dashing as she reached for another item to throw at him, John stopped her and turned her round, grabbing both her wrists and holding her as she yanked back, trying, but failing miserably to escape his grip, “Did you even love her?” He asked, “Or was it just convenient?”

 

Harry stopped struggling then and narrowed her eyes at John. He let go and she rubbed at her wrists, as she spat, “Oh please John, get off your high horse, and just admit it, you resent me because you were the one who always had to dress my injuries, and take me out on halloween and practice with me for my sports games and helped pay for my dress for the school formal.”

 

“No, Harry, no! I have never once resented any of that,” John spoke over her.

 

“Yes, you have!” She answered, “You always thought that my life was so 'easy'–”

 

“–It _was!_ ” John exclaimed, “it _is!_ You have never had a care in the world! You're beautiful and fun and charming... your life is _perfect,_ Harriet!”

 

Harry gave John a sad look then but still managed to shout at him, “ _Perfect?!_ You think my life is _perfect?!_ Are you _crazy?_ You have _no idea_.” She calmed down as she spoke this next part, “Do you want to know why I really came back to London, John? I was fired from my job... because of... because I was drinking too much and I just... I couldn't stop, Johnny! Then– god and then nobody wanted to work with me! The designers all rejected me left and right and to top it off Clara left me. She _left me_ because she said she didn't want to deal with a _drunken has-been_... And then Mary was there, and she was _nice_ to me, and she treated me well, you know? And I just... I wanted to be someone she might want.” Harry finished sadly as she looked at John who was staring at her speaking without wanting to interrupt, “I was trying to be someone who deserved her... someone she could respect. I was trying to be like you, big brother. I was trying to be like you.”

 

John swallowed, “Why...? Why would you want to be like me when you get to be... you.”

 

Harry smiled weakly, sitting on the store counter, “...We're a mess, aren't we Johnny?”

 

John's lip turned up sadly as he moved to sit next to her, an arm around her shoulder, “I know...”

 

Harry pressed her face against his chest and curled her arm around his back, “John you've been trying to take care of me and mum ever since dad passed away–”

 

“I _had_ to.” John replied quickly.

 

“No– you didn't have to,” Harry said, her face upturned to look at him now, her other hand pulled up and balled into in his shirt at his chest as her eyes bored into him, willing him to understand.

 

“But if I didn't–,” John tried,

 

“– but if you don't, then you'll just be my brother, which is what it should be.” Harry hesitated, “Maybe... when I was young I needed you to help me or you needed to help me, but _now?_ Now, you've got to stop all that. Stop taking care of me... of _every one._ John, I know it's why you did everything you did. It's why you became a doctor and why you joined the army and that's noble and all that but look... look what it's done to you... I know that I might seem selfish and entitled and, and, and... _ignorant_ of others, but... I _love_ you, Johnny, and I just want you to be happy. Okay?”

 

John looked down at the floor as Harry hugged him tight and for the first time in a while he willingly thought of him, of Sherlock. _'Finally! I saw what you did in that room and John, I thought you were brilliant. ... you did something, John, for the first time in a long time you were not just the perfect groomsman'_ and _'I want you to know that I think you deserve more than what you've settled for... I really do. You deserve to be taken care of for a change...'_ John smiled a little at the memory of those words.

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

That night as he brushed his teeth a little thought nibbled at his mind. _'I don't get it, you do the thing, you have the suit, just throw it out,'_ Sherlock's voice rand out in his head as John flicked his eyes over to the closet stuffed with suits. He hesitated a moment while he brushed, letting the words circle over and over in his mind. Finally he rushed into the bathroom, rinsed out his mouth thoroughly and without another thought briskly made his way into the kitchen. He took a few large garbage bags and went back to the closet. He began ripping the suits out of their hangers and chucking them onto the floor. When he was done getting them all out he scrunched each costume up and stuffed them all into the bags. It was almost an hour later when the phone rang as he tied the last bag together with a sense of finality.

 

“Hullo?” John answered it, “Oh! Hi! Yes... not a problem. I'll be right over. Okay, bye.” John smiled as he closed the door of the closet with a sigh of relief then calmly walked over to his room to get dressed.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

John knocked on the door of Mary's flat confidently. He was dressed in a neat tan coloured suit jacket, a cream coloured button-up top, a light almost olive green-grey neck tie and a darker greenish-tan pair of slacks. Mary looked at him appreciatively as she opened the door to allow him in. She was dressed in a long lilac dress with a black beaded pattern of leaves embroidered on it, “Sorry that took so long,” She said and added, “You look very handsome,” gesturing for John to come in.

 

She walked over to the hall bathroom and picked up a pair of earrings, putting each on as she spoke, “Thank you for coming down on such short notice... I had intended to attend this new benefit with... but... well, yes. I guess I do need you to help me find a date to these things sometimes, don't I?”

 

John smiled, “I guess so... Mary, before we go anywhere I just wanted to apologize for the other night. What I did... it was wrong. I shouldn't have said it like that–”

 

“No, John, don't apologize for that.” Mary said then, walking over to him with a coat in her arms, “In fact, you've done me a favour. It isn't your fault I almost stupidly decided to marry someone I barely knew. What was I even thinking? Right? I must have seemed terribly mad.”

 

John quirked a sad smile at that. He felt awful, hearing Mary say that after what Harry had confessed, but he knew she was hurt, and perhaps, if Harriet had simply told her the truth, and John hadn't interfered Mary wouldn't feel this way right now. He said nothing.

 

Mary sighed, “Let's just forget that whole thing, yes?”

 

John nodded, relief spreading towards his entire body “Sure. Of course, Mary, if you're sure.”

 

“I'm sure.” Mary answered, “Now, I hate to ask you for another favour, but I need to find my speech for tonight and I cannot find the file.” She gestured over to her laptop on the hall table, “Do you think you could help me? It's on wireless so you just need to hit the print option I just... I–”

 

John smiled, “Yes, yes, of course, I'll get it.”

 

Mary followed and stood next to him as he clicked around the screen, “John, I am so thankful that I could call you tonight... I can always count on you.” John looked back at Mary and nodded a smile. Mary continued, looking away with a slight blush on her face, “You never say no... which I love.” She looked back at John with her pinked cheeks just as he turned to her, a sudden realization filling his eyes.

 

“What?” he asked as he stood up straight.

 

Mary continued to look at him in the eyes, “Well- I-I... I just meant...” She stopped, searching him with a look, “I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?”

 

John looked up at the ceiling, “Ugh... Oh god...” He sighed, “Mary, I quit,” He said, “Yep... I quit.” He started walking around Mary towards the door,

 

“Wait, what do you mean, you quit?” She asked suddenly very confused.

 

“Look, when you brought me to the clinic after Afghanistan I was grateful, and I was blown away by you, and your abilities. I got so caught up in it, in order to distract myself from the pain I was feeling, that I never actually bothered to get past them and get on with my own life. And then I guess I was too comfortable to leave which is when, of course, I realized I had to be there every day to see you because I was so madly in love with you.” John closed his eyes, laughing a little at his final admission.

 

Mary quirked an eyebrow at him as she smiled, “Really?” She mouthed.

 

John huffed out a breath through his smile, “Yeah... horrible, mad, crush. Mad. Absolutely insane,” he sighed, “but you'll be fine Mary.” He patted her arm as he opened the door, “You'll get somebody in this position who will stay for two years, maximum, because that's what acceptable and appropriate–” Mary stopped him then as she crowded in closer to him, pulled his shirt towards her and kissed him awkwardly.

 

John let her, and kissed her in return. This is what he'd been waiting for all this time... this was what he'd wanted all these years... but... somehow, even as her lips brushed against his he felt nothing. It felt odd... and wrong... somehow.

 

Mary finally pulled away looking at him with a confused expression, one he was sure he was returning.

 

“I'm sorry.” She said, her eyes suddenly worried, “It just sort of... came out of me. It was just sudden– I mean you–”

 

John shook his head, grinning, “No, no, it's okay. I did always wonder what that would feel like...”

 

“And?” Mary asked, searching his eyes.

 

John's smile deflated a little, he hesitated, “...Nothing,” he said, finally, “Nothing.”

 

“Oof. Ouch.” Mary said, with a fond smile, “That hurts, John.”

 

They laughed. And stared at each other for a moment.

 

Mary's eyes searched his for a second, “Perhaps... one more try?”

 

John giggled a little, “Sure, why not?”

 

She leaned in and they kissed each other again, with a little more gusto this time.

 

...

 

It still felt... weird.

 

John frowned. Mary pulled away, a similar expression oh her.

 

“No good?” She asked.

 

“It's not... bad... just,” John searched for the words, “It's not what it's supposed to feel like. You?”

 

“Honestly this just confirms my love for women. No offence.” She said, lips moving up in an apologetic pout.

 

“No, nope. None taken,” John laughed, “It should feel... when you're with the person you're meant to be with there should be–” He tried to explain, but couldn't think of any words to describe what it should feel like. All he knew was that he'd felt it once before, and it was not with Mary or any of the girls or lads from the army he'd been with, but like it was when... when he'd kissed... _Sherlock._

 

“I've got to go!” He said suddenly, and he kissed Mary on the cheek as he ran out of the flat to go catch a cab.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes... I added the drugs and the alcohol problems. U_U I know, I'm horrible. The angst is strong withing me.   
> If it makes you feel better I almost cried as I wrote this whole section.   
> Stupid movie. Stupid Johnlock. Stupid sentiment! Stupid fluff. I hate you. I want more hilarity. >:(   
> (I say this as if I don't have the power to add hilarity... in my defence this story has a mind of its own and 90% of this plot is not mine)


	12. Now Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> confessions and commitments. Also it's the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited  
> Not beta'd  
> You know the drill... again.  
> I might merge this and Chapter 11 together. And I might merge chapter 11 and chapter 10 together too... so they might become chapter 10 and that would be the end... But for now... Chapter 12 is the last one. Or I might merge chapter 10 & 11 into one chapter and the beginning of this with chapter with that one, making this Chapter 11 and the very last one. we'll see. 
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~<3 B

 

John made his way into the New York Journal's offices following the instruction of a receptionist at the front. He had been glad to hear the Sherlock was still employed by the paper. John walked briskly to a corner desk in the back row, next to a few cubicles, that had a sleek metal name tag with the name 'William Sherlock Scott Holmes', neatly printed in gold letters. It was plain to see that this was where he worked, but John couldn't see any other sign of Sherlock anywhere. It was late at night, however, so there was a huge possibility that Sherlock had already gone home.

 

He looked over at another cubicle where a handsome man in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair talked with a mousy young woman and a slightly older, pretty yet severe looking woman in hushed tones. “Excuse me,” John said, with an apologetic look at them, “I'm sorry, but would any of you happen to know where Will- Sherl... Where um... Sherlock Holmes could possibly... be...?”

 

“Oh,” The handsome man said, looking up, “Erm yes, unfortunate-”

 

“Oh!” The Mousy girl interrupted, “You're John! From his article!”

 

The man stared from the girl to John, “Hey... well so you are!” He exclaimed excitedly.

 

“You're famous.” The girl smiled in explanation.

 

John smiled back, “Yes... well, so I've been told, now–”

 

“Sherlock's not here.” The severe woman spoke up then, her tone was not as friendly as the others'.

 

John frowned, “Where is he then?”

 

“That's just what we were asking before you came in, actually.” The mousy girl told John as she turned to give a stern look to the severe woman, “We have a right to know, Anthea, he's our friend.”

 

The woman, Anthea, sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingertips. “Look... I already told you, I don't know.” She looked over at John, “But it has to have something to do with you. He's not been in since Mycroft promoted him to investigation.”

 

“Investigation?” The man asked, “You think he ran off on a case then?”

 

“I don't think so, Greg.” Anthea answered him.

 

“Then what could it be?” The mousy girl stood, crossing her arms.

 

“What's him being promoted to investigation got to do with me?” John finally asked.

 

Anthea sighed again, and got up from her position leaning against the cubicle desk, “Molly, Greg, John... follow me. This is private Holmes business.”

 

She brought them in to a large lavish looking office behind two double doors. She went round the desk and picked up a mobile phone.

 

“Mycroft rarely leaves without it.” Anthea said, picking it up and showing it to them. “He... he got a call, or made a call... I'm not sure... the other night... then he just ran off looking frazzled.”

 

“Frazzled?” Molly asked, “You're sure he looked... frazzled?”

 

John stared at them, confused.

 

“Mycroft doesn't do emotions.” Anthea explained.

 

John's lips made an 'O'.

 

“I've never even seen blink an eye at the worst of news.” Molly said.

 

“I have.” Greg admitted.

 

They all turned to him then.

 

“The last time was when...” He sighed, “ _Shit,_ ” he said, “I know where they are.”

 

A look of understanding dawned on Anthea's face. “Bart's” She sighed.

 

Molly frowned, “Oh no.”

 

John stared at them, what?

 

“Sherlock has... he might've...” Greg tried, looking to the others for help.

 

“Every time he has an over-dose Mycroft has him write a list of what he's taken and brings him to the hospital.” Anthea explained, “He nearly died last time...”

 

John's eyes widened in panic at those last words and he dashed from the room.

 

 

He rushed out into the streets and hailed a cab.

 

“Bart's Hospital!” He said, “And hurry!”

 

“Yes sir.” The cab driver answered and did his best to speed him there.

 

 

 

 

\-------

 

 

 

Mycroft sat outside in the waiting area waiting for news on Sherlock's well-being. He'd had a serious over-dose for the first time in a long time again. When he'd arrived at Sherlock's flat in 221b he'd found him shaking on the couch, crouched into a ball and mumbling incoherently. The list was no-where to be seen. It was then that Mycroft had called an ambulance and when it arrived had rushed in the compartment to ride with his little brother to Hospital.

 

They'd taken him away into a room to recover then and Mycroft had sat in the chair for nearly a day and a half now, awaiting news of his sibling.

 

“Please, I need to ask you where they're keeping someone–” A frantic male voice sounded somewhere at the end of the hall, “I need your help–”

 

“I can't just give out patient information to anyone,” A woman's voice said,

 

“No, please, he's my friend–”

 

“Wait a minute...” the female interrupted, “I know you from somewhere... aren't you – wait aren't you that man from paper? The groomsman?”

 

“Yes! Yes, nurse that's me.” The male voice answered, still in a panic.

 

“Oh my goodness! What are you doing here? Are you alright?” the woman (nurse, apparently), asked, her voice sounding sympathetic.

 

The male voice hesitated, “Well, it's a long story... but there's... there's this man... and I, well we– and I just– I need to know that he's okay”

 

“Oh no! Is he hurt? I'll help you find him!” The nurse practically squealed.

 

Mycroft frowned. If his deduction was correct, the male voice belonged to John Watson, and now here he was in hospital looking for some man while his little brother lay in a presumably comatose state due to a drug over-dose over that man. Mycroft stood then, fully intending to give the man a piece of his mind, perhaps even threaten him a bit. He wasn't one to show emotion too often, but the last time this had happened Mycroft had let the man get away and Sherlock had ended up worse off because of it. Mycroft would not make the same mistake twice. John Watson would not be another Victor. Mycroft would crush him under his shoe like a big before he did that to Sherlock.

 

“Tell me more about him!” The nurse begged as Mycroft walked towards them, his frown now a full scowl.

 

“Um...” John Watson was saying. Yes, it was definitely him. He'd recognize him anywhere, thanks to the hundreds of photos his little brother had taken of him.

 

“Or perhaps you could tell me, nurse, how my little brother is doing, seeing as how you have so much time.” Mycroft seethed at the woman.

 

The nurse gave a nervous squawk in surprise. Mycroft glared at her. “Well? Get going!” He commanded.  
  
The woman glared in return, but complied, “Yes, Mr. Holmes. Right away.”

 

“Mr... Holmes?” John Watson asked, staring at Mycroft.

 

“John Watson, I presume.” Mycroft hissed at him, glowering.

 

“I- how did you?” John stuttered, “Hang on– Have I... done something wrong?”

 

“Have you done something wrong?!” Mycroft asked, “Sherlock tells me you helped him solve a crime, but I don't see how you could have, not while you have the nerve to ask me a question like that. Take a look at where you're standing, Dr. Watson, and at my disposition towards you and make a deduction. What do you _think_ you've done?”

 

“Sherlock... he's fine though isn't he?” John asked his eyes widening.

 

“I don't know, do I?!” Mycroft thundered, “Why do you think I asked that nurse to go check on my brother? For the fun of it? Dear, god what in the hell does he see in you?”

 

Another nurse came up to them then, this one looking more stern, “Mr. Holmes,” She said, “If you can't keep calm, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

 

Mycroft turned his eyes on her and regarded her coldly. “I want this man out of my sight. I don't want him anywhere near William Holmes. And if I find out one of you has put him in contact with my little brother before I see him, I'll have this place burned to the ground,” He threatened, and stormed over to the seat where he'd left his umbrella. He removed his coat and tossed it haphazardly aside, taking a deep intake of breath and placing his head in his hands. His shoulders shook in an apparent shiver.

 

The nurse looked at John, about to ask him to leave, but John made a b-line towards Mycroft and was at his side in one swift movement.

 

“Mycroft... Sorry, Mister Holmes...” John started, “Look... I know that Sherlock is your brother, and that you love him. It's clear you do...” Mycroft was silent and made no move to get up, “I have a younger sister, as you know, from reading Sherlock's writing, and though she seems a tad over-bearing I know you understand how I feel about her, because it's the same way you feel about him so... So, trust me when I say that I know how you're feeling because if someone hurt my sister, I don't know what I'd do...” John whispered then as he kneeled in front of Mycroft, “But, I need you to trust me when I say this: I'm not here to hurt Sherlock Holmes. Quite the opposite, in fact. At least... I hope.”

 

Mycroft raised his head to stare at John, _Ah. Of course._ He was here to see Sherlock. He wasn't here searching for anyone other than him. “Yes, of course,” Mycroft said his thoughts aloud, “It's obvious, now that I look. I let the rage get the better of me. You're here to tell him you love him, aren't you?”

 

John smiled, his expression shy, “If you'll let me,” he said, then his expression grew bold, “And if you don't, I'll tell him anyway.”

 

Mycroft smiled then, “Ah, the bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?”

 

John laughed, and seemed about to speak when the nurse from before – the one who had squealed at John and glared at Mycroft walked up to them looking a little nervous and a little curious, “Mr. Holmes, I'm told that William can see you now. He's asleep, just now, but the danger is over. He'll wake up soon enough.”

 

“Will you still be wanting us to keep him away?” The other nurse asked, though Mycroft had a feeling she already knew the answer, having witnessed the whole situation.

 

“No. No, it's fine.” Mycroft stood, taking his umbrella and coat, “Will you join me, Dr. Watson?”

 

John nodded his assent.

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

“Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?” John's voice sounded fuzzy and distant.

 

Sherlock felt like he was sinking into an ocean. His eyelids felt heavy and he found that he simply couldn't find the strength to speak, even though he desperately wanted to.

 

 _John... John!_ He thought.

 

“His eyes are flickering. Is he waking up?” This sounded more like Mycroft's voice. Sherlock felt himself grimace. Of course Mycroft would be here to ruin his fantasies of John. God he must be really high.

 

“It looks like it,” A woman said.

 

“J-John.” Sherlock finally heard himself rasp. Where was John? Where had John gone? Sherlock wanted John back.

 

“Yes, Sherlock. Sherlock, It's me. I'm here.” the distant voice urged.

 

“John?”

 

“Sherlock... Sherlock I'm s– I'm here, okay? I'm here.” John sounded closer now, like he could touch him.

 

Sherlock felt his eyelids flicker and a bright light flashed heavily above him. He shut his eyes instinctively and tried again. As his eyes opened again, slowly this time, the room he was in came in to view and all the sounds around him suddenly rushed into his ears. He heard the stable beep-beep-beeping of his heart beat monitored on a machine, and saw that he was in a white hospital room with a woman (presumably a nurse), his brother Mycroft looking particularly disheveled, and John Watson looking particularly beautiful even with the look of nervous worry in his eyes.

 

“You alright?” He asked.

 

“Mmm've been better.” Sherlock smiled, attempting to look charming. This would be difficult as he lay here post-over-dose in a hospital bed. “I'll be fine, really.” Sherlock looked at his brother now, as he said this. “Sorry about the list.” He added.

 

Mycroft did his best to look composed and sniffed, “Yes, well. You're alright now, I can see.” He gestured for the nurse to leave as he began heading towards the door, then and turning to give John a meaningful look he said, “We'll leave you to it then. But remember what we discussed. If you hurt him, Dr. Watson, I _will_ find you.” He smiled unpleasantly and followed the nurse out, clicking the door shut behind him.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “He acts like I'm made of glass.”

 

John quirked a lip in a stiff smile, “You're really alright?”

 

“Just a little heroin John. I'll be right as rain come morning.” Sherlock grinned.

 

“Heroin?” John's eyebrows shot up as his mouth gave a frown in disapproval.

 

“Don't ask.” Sherlock said, looking away.

 

“You know I have to.”

 

“It's not important. Let's just say I'm an idiot and leave it at that...” Sherlock frowned, “but more to the point, how did you find out? Mycroft didn't call you did he? I'll hang him if he did.” He looked back to John to check he didn't lie to him as he responded,

 

“No! No, he didn't call me. Didn't want me to see you, actually. Blamed me for the state of you.” John smiled sadly at that. “Maybe I am.”

 

“No, you're not. Not you John Watson, you could never do this. You... you keep me right. What happened... I did it to myself... However, I _will_ hang Mycroft for putting that idea in your head.” Sherlock scowled.

 

John looked at Sherlock, still smiling, “You shouldn't, you know. He's your big brother. He loves you. He's just worried about you.”

 

Sherlock raised a brow and gave a slightly flirtatious smile, “What _has_ he been telling you?”

 

“More like what've _I_ been telling _him_.”

 

“And what _have_ you been telling him?”

 

John paused nervously, “I've...” He stuttered.

 

Sherlock waited, “Yes?”

 

John frowned, “I wanted to tell you...” He shook his head and started over, “Just... you were right about me, about all of it. I just didn't want to hear it, especially not from you...” He stopped and scratched at the back of his head as he looked to the ceiling, “and... Ah... uhm...” He coughed, “God this is harder than I thought it would be...”

 

Sherlock tilted his head sideways and sat up a little straighter as John walked closer to the bed and sat at his side. Sherlock smiled at him and took his hand. John squeezed it and smiled back.

 

“Sherlock, I've been waiting my whole life for the right person to come along...” He started, “and then you came into my life... and... you're nothing like what I imagined...” John drew little unconscious patterns in Sherlock's hand as he spoke with a fond smile, “You're cynical, and cranky, and... impossible, but meeting you is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I think there's a very good chance that I've... well, that I've fallen in love with you.” John blushed as he finished, looking at Sherlock but not quite being able to meet his eye.

 

Sherlock stared at him, his eyes searching John for a long moment.

 

John's smile faltered, “So... that's it... that's... all I had to say... so... um... ”

 

Sherlock continued to regard John.

 

John finally looked at his eyes. “Yeah...” He said, blushing a bit, “Sherlock, look I just really–”

 

Sherlock smirked at John and whispered, “Get over here.”

 

John gave him a frown of confusion. Sherlock raised a brow and beckoned him with his other hand.

 

John huffed out a little laugh and shook his head. “You mad wanker,” He said as he pressed himself against Sherlock's lips. Sherlock kissed him like he was drowning, sucking the breath right out of him. “I love you too” He whispered against John's lips, “I love you, John. _I love you._ ”

 

 

\-----------------------

 

 

Epilogue

 

_**Ten Months Later** _

 

John had moved into Sherlock's cozy flat at 221B baker street about five months ago. Since he'd quit his job with Mary at the clinic, he had begun his own wedding planning service. It was going quite brilliantly, actually. Sherlock had gone back to work for Mycroft, but this time as an investigative journalist. John of course, lived a precarious double life planning weddings by day and helping Sherlock solve crimes for his journal by night.

 

 

“Need to work on your side of the Church, John it's looking a bit thin.” Sherlock commented as he stared at the wall behind their couch. He was standing in front of it with his hands on his hips and a deep frown of concentration on his face. On the victorian wall-paper Sherlock had pinned all their wedding plans, just like he usually pinned a murder board whenever he and John had an investigation. John raised his eyebrows, from his chair next to the table. He was examining the mail and checking over the seating plan, “The wedding's not for two months Sherlock, people need time to RSVP.”

 

“ _My_ family's already done it.” Sherlock answered imperiously.

 

John gave him a look. “You called them all and demanded answers.”

 

“Yes, well... much more efficient, wasn't it?” Sherlock looked smug.

 

John rolled his eyes, “I wouldn't have had so many nice invitations printed if we weren't going to use them.”

 

Sherlock ignored him, “The rehearsal dinner is set to start at precisely eleven forty-eight.”

 

John looked up from the mail to stare at Sherlock, “Yes, well the rehearsal dinner's not for another month and a half, so calm down.”

 

“Calm? I am calm. I'm extremely calm!” Sherlock said it all too quickly.

 

John smiled fondly at him, “Let's just get back to the reception, Sherlock, come sit down.”

 

Sherlock complied.

 

“Hmmm, your cousin Marie-Georgette... top table, d'you think?” John asked him, passing Sherlock an envelope.

 

Sherlock took it, examined it closely and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose a little. “Mmmmno, hates you. Can't even bear to think about you.”

 

“Seriously?” John pouted a little.

 

“Second-class post, cheap card, bought at the petrol station. And look at the stamp. Three attempts at licking.” Sherlock pointed as he handed back the envelope, “Gigi's obviously unconsciously retaining saliva.”

 

“Nice.” John answered sarcastically, then added, with a hint of wickedness in his voice, “Let's stick her by the bogs.”

 

“My thoughts exactly.” Sherlock beamed.

 

“Anyone else I should know about?” John asked as he sorted through the papers on his lap.

 

“I made a list.” Sherlock handed him said list.

 

“Of _course_ you did.” John took it and frowned at the names. _Why are you even coming?_ He asked himself in his mind as he read through them.

 

“Table five?” Sherlock asked suddenly.

 

“Thought we were on table four...”

 

“No we're done, remember, we added that girl with the nose, from your job?” Sherlock reminded him.

 

“Right, right, table five then.”

 

“Major Jake Melas, who's he?” Sherlock pointed out the name, his head tilted in John's general direction.

 

“My old commanding officer.” John said as he read a note written by his friends Stella and Ted, “He'll be there.”

 

“He needs to RSVP.” Sherlock frowned.

 

“He lives out in the middle of nowhere, Sherlock, he probably hasn't gotten the mail yet.” John assured him, “ _He'll_ _ **be**_ _there._ ”

 

“If you say so...” Sherlock replied, standing and pulling out a little tray from under the coffee table as he kneeled down next to it, “Now, swan or sydney opera house?”

 

“What?” John asked, not looking up from his reading.

 

“Serviettes,” Sherlock clarified, “Swan or Sydney Opera House?”

 

John looked curiously at the proffered serviettes, “I don't remember teaching you that...” He commented.

 

“I learned many skills when I worked in commitments for Mycroft.” Sherlock spoke smoothly as he answered. Almost too smoothly... probably a lie then.

 

Testing him John stated: “I refuse to believe you helped people fold serviettes before you met me.”

 

“Fine.” Sherlock conceded, and gave himself away when he blinked before he started, “I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact–”

 

“Sherlock, I'm going to be your husband, I can tell when you're lying to me.” John deadpanned.

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “Okay, I learned it on youtube. Happy?”

 

“Mm, yes.” John leaned over and kissed Sherlock sweetly on the lips, “Opera house, probably, do you agree?”

 

“Yes, I think it goes nicely with the rest of table arrangement.” Sherlock answered, staring at the little opera houses thoughtfully.

 

The tea kettle whistled in the kitchen as the water boiled. “I'll get it.” John said, standing and walking into the kitchen to prepare their tea. “So... are you going to tell me why you're youtube-ing serviettes?” He shouted at Sherlock so that he would hear him as he took out the cups, milk and sugar in the kitchen.

 

“I'm thorough,” Sherlock shouted back.

 

John returned from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on the floor when he came in, surrounded by serviette opera houses.

 

“That just sort of... happened.” Sherlock explained.

 

“Right... you're terrified.” John said flatly, setting down the mugs on the coffee table and sitting next to Sherlock.

 

“That's ridiculous, John, why would I be terrified?” Sherlock turned his body toward John, but his eyes wouldn't meet his face.

 

“We're getting married in two months?” John tried, an eyebrow raised.

 

Sherlock made a little moue of discontent at John's implication, “Yes we are and I'm _thrilled_ that we are _, not terrified.”_

 

“You're scared.” John repeated, “No– don't interrupt. I know you are, because of _him._ Victor–”

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the mention of the name and whispered,“ _Mycroft!_ ”

 

“–shh, yes, Mycroft, told me, but you know what, Sherlock? I'm glad he told me because you never would have. Look, I'm not Victor, I'm nothing like him–”

 

“–I know you aren't–”

 

“So you've nothing to fear, yeah?” John said, grasping Sherlock's forearm in a reassuring way.

 

“... yes, fine, you win.” Sherlock reluctantly agreed, though his face looked calmer now, “But I'm still going to sneak into Mycroft's and _asphyxiate_ him.” He made an angry strangling gesture with his hands.

 

John gave him one of his now common 'confused but fond' expressions, “Please don't.” he requested.

 

 

 

 

\------------

 

 

_**Two Months Later** _

 

 

The crowd of people filled in around the pews at St. Mary's church chattering happily and excitedly. The place had been decorated in white roses and lavender bouquets with beautiful lilac ribbons intertwining with the flowers. The perfume permeated the air in their soft and pleasant smells mixed with the scents of the incense and candles in the church.

 

Irene was dressed in a very chic-looking three-piece wool suit in a dark cool grey with a white-lilac shirt and a lavender necktie. She had a white rose pinned to her lapel which was decorated with a soft lavender chiffon ribbon. In her pocket she had a white lilac kerchief peaking out. She smiled coyly as she made her way to a rather mousy yet extremely cute looking bridesmaid dressed in a lilac-grey chiffon dress, matching Irene. “You must be my maid of Honour.” Irene said, taking her hand and bowing as she kissed it.

 

The sweet little thing squeaked as she blushed and pulled her hand back in surprise, “Um, I'm... your...? um... well, maybe? Yes? Sorry, that was rude... I-” The girl extended her hand to Irene in a friendly gesture, “I'm Molly...” She said, blushing as Irene smiled and kissed her hand again.

 

“Irene Adler. Best man.” She winked.

 

“I thought Greg was the Best Man?” Molly asked.

 

“No she's Greg's Sherlock's best man,” Irene clarified, “There's two of us, one for John and one for Sherlock. Harry's John's maid of Honour. Speaking of ”

 

Molly squeaked again, “Oh! Right! I should go!” She smiled and gaining confidence, she curtsied before she left. “It's been a pleasure,” She giggled as she ran to join Harriet at the door.

 

 _I'm going to rip that dress to shreds._ Irene thought.

 

 

\-------------

 

 

Archie and Mary made their way into the church through the front doors. Harriet stood on one side handing out the Wedding Programs while a girl dressed identically like her stood on the other side, probably doing the same thing.

 

“Harriet's looking very pretty.” Archie commented.

 

“That she is.” Mary agreed.

 

“You going to see her again?” Archie asked in a very casual and grown-up manner.

 

Mary gave Archie a scandalized look, “Archie! I'm here for John's wedding, nothing more.”

 

Archie gave her a mischievous smile, “And after the wedding are you going to see her again?” He asked.

 

“I need to talk to your mother about what you've been watching on tely, young man.” Mary said, though she was smiling even as the words came out of her mouth, “Now, off you pop.”

 

Mary dismissed Archie as she walked up to Harriet, greeting her shyly, “Hi.”

 

Harriet regarded her nervously, a pretty little blush spreading across her cheeks, “Hi... Um... I'm the maid of Honour. Well, one of... Molly over there is Sherlock's,” Harry shrugged, “Not sure why they needed one each, but boys will be boys... I er... currently live in the west end with a lot of roommates... and I just started designing my own line of fabulous handbags, and I'm completely broke. It's alright though, really. I'm ten months sober and still going. And I eat a hamburger a day and my idea of a pet is a rock.”

 

Mary smiled, “Well, it's very nice to meet you, miss...”

 

Harry giggled, “Harriet, Harriet Theresa Watson. Um, but my friends call me Harry.”

 

“Harry, understood,” Mary laughed and shook her hand, “Mary Elizabeth Morstan.”

 

Harry beamed, “Wait until you see the grooms. They look amazing.”

 

Mary nodded, “I'll be awaiting the moment with great anticipation.” She promised bowing and making her way into the church.

 

 

\---------

 

 

_**John** _

 

“You ready?” Harry asked John as she watched him fix his tie for what must have been the fiftieth time today.

 

He was dressed in a beautifully fitted black tailcoat suit, a white shirt and a cool grey vest. His top-hat matched the colour of the vest and was decorated with a black double ribbon. Like Irene he wore a white rose pinned to his lapel adorned with lavender ribbons. In his breast pocket was a white pocket-square.

 

Irene peaked her head into the room, “Everything looks perfect,” She walked over to John, hugging him, “and this suit, the best part of it is I can always keep it and wear it to another party.” She smirked as she pulled away from him.

 

John laughed, “Yes, Irene, completely true. Now go out and wait for us. Oh! And let Sherlock know I'm still here. He must be panicking right now.”

 

Irene saluted him and marched back out to go tell Greg to deliver the message.

 

 

 

_**Sherlock** _

 

“You ready, Sherlock?” Molly asked him, smiling sweetly as Sherlock fixed his hair in the mirror again.

 

“Perfectly ready. Is John ready?”

 

“Do you mean is he still there?” Molly asked him her patient smile turning to one of sweet sympathy.

 

Sherlock said nothing as Greg peaked his head into the room, “Irene tells me John says 'I'm still here, Sherlock.'”

 

Sherlock glared at both of them for a moment, but then smiled as he said, “Tell him to stop wasting time and come out to marry me already, then.”

 

“Tell him yourself, ceremony starts in one minute.” Greg said as he shut the door and went to join Irene at their end of the chancel.

 

 

 

\------------  
  


 

 

 

“Are you ready, John Darling?” John's mother said as she hooked her arm around his.

 

“Yup.”

 

 

 

\--------------

 

 

 

 

“Alright, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked his little brother.

 

“Shut-up, Mycroft.”

 

“Of course.” Mycroft smirked.

 

 

 

\-----------

 

 

 

A silence waved over the church as Harriet and Molly walked in from each side of the church aisles (one from the north aisle [left] and the other from the south aisle [right]) each holding a bouquet, followed by Archie who walked alone down the centre, holding the rings in a pillow before him.

 

Two doors, one on each far side of the chancel remained closed. Sherlock stood nervously tapping his foot behind the right hand side as John stood calmly behind his door on the right. At each side of the altar stood two rows of people. On Sherlock's side stood Irene, Harriet, Greg and Molly. On John's side stood twenty-seven groomsmen, five of them women, each dressed in a replica of the suit he or she had made John wear on their wedding day.

 

Finally both men reached the countdown in their head and came out of each door walking to meet each other at the altar.

 

John stared into Sherlock's eyes the moment he exited the door and saw Sherlock doing the same. He beamed and almost shed a tear when he saw, apart from the relief of seeing John physically there, a look of unrestrained joy and love filling Sherlock's eyes as he made his way closer.

 

John kissed his mother as she walked away while Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Mycroft, who bowed subtly and took Mrs. Watson's hand as they descended the steps of the Chancel towards their seats.

 

“So... is this moment everything you'd hoped for, Doctor?” Sherlock asked, smugly.

 

“No.” John deadpanned.

 

Sherlock looked worried for a second.

 

“It's much better actually.” John smirked.

 

 

 

That day John had woken up and put on his twenty-eight tux, and he went to a wedding where no one asked him to calm down the groom, or fold a place card, or to hold their jacket while they vomited into a toilet. Everything was perfect, but John wouldn't have cared if it hadn't been. The only thing that mattered to him was that in that moment, Sherlock was looking at him the way he'd always hoped.

 

 

 

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironic how I named it "Now Kiss" But I don't mention them kissing in the very very end. I couldn't find a way to end it with the kiss and it all sounded cheesy. I decided to end it with an almost direct quote from the film so that it would end the same way I started it. Completely unoriginally. :P And they kissed after the love confession sooo... technically you have your kiss.
> 
> Also I thought it would be cute to add the wedding planning two months before they got married. It's just funny. Plus I loved that scene in BBC Sherlock. He's such a precious pumpkin.
> 
> That's it. I'm done. Fiiiiiinito. *bows* Thank you, thank you it's been a pleasure plagiarizing 90% of a movie for you and then 5% of BBC Sherlock while adding Johnlock.
> 
> I might do a few illustrations for this in the upcoming week (if work doesn't get in the way) I make no promises, but if you do get a lil e-mail about a chapter update or whatever... it won't be more writing, it'll just be pictures, most likely. 
> 
> **EDIT: I've done line art for a couple of illustrations but RL has gotten in the way (I was recently a bridesmaid at an RL wedding - it was fun ;-; and sooo cute - also I've got a few art shows coming up that I still need to submit for and more classes added to my work schedule o_o) so yeah... I haven't had time. I've a few things on my to do list work-wise so it'll be a while till i get to do any work on this again.**
> 
> I really want to draw the outfits the most (i'm kind of a huge fan of fashion illustration) but I also really like designing wedding invitations and flower arrangements so I might make and draw a few of those as well... We'll see how my RL work schedule goes...


End file.
